The Return
by Not-a-Muggle87
Summary: It's 8th Year and Harry has finally discovered the existence of his libido. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets far more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended, and some people might not be as gone as we thought.
1. To Hogwarts!

**Title: The Return**

**Disclaimer:** I'm so not J.K…

**Rating: R**

**Pairing: H/D**

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

**Chapter 1: To Hogwarts**

"Hurry up or you'll miss the train, dears." Molly Weasley had had her fill of Ron and Harry acting up this summer.

When Harry wasn't dealing with the fame and the press, he and Ron had spent their time goofing off, pulling pranks, and making up for the childish behavior in which they hadn't been able to indulge after the return of Voldemort. But with the constant evil of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters gone, they finally had their chance. What did Harry or Ron care that they were 18 now?

Despite her weariness, Molly couldn't help but smile when Ron gave Harry's trolley a giant shove and ran through the barrier onto Platform 9 3/4, followed closely by a giggling Harry and an amused Hermione. Ginny followed along more sedately, musing over Harry's behavior.

He'd become drastically more carefree since ending the war and she was happy for him. But she was coming to realize that what had originally attracted her to the boy with no sense of style was his brooding nature. Maybe she just preferred the dramatic boys. She'd have to give it some thought.

Harry looked around the platform at all of the returning students. Was it just him or were the boys of Hogwarts more attractive than they used to be?

Harry had been subject to his first ever erotic dream over the summer. He'd dreamed that Charlie Weasley had walked in on Harry in the shower, yanked the shower curtain aside and ravished him up against the cool tiles of the bathroom. When he'd awoken, he had been supremely embarrassed to find his midsection was sticky and rapidly cooling. With a furtive glance over at Ron's snoring form, Harry pulled his wand out from under his pillow and cast a Drying Charm.

The wet dreams continued throughout the following weeks, featuring a multitude of different partners whom had had their way with Harry's body. He'd realized after just three nights that his subconscious seemed fixated on men. Hot, sweaty, naked men. After spending two days in denial he'd given up and admitted to himself that he was gay. And he'd apparently located his previously absent libido.

A shout of "HARRY!" from next to him brought him out of his thoughts. He looked left and met Hermione's scrutinizing gaze. She seemed about to speak when Seamus ran up and interrupted.

"There you guys are," the Irishman said. He pulled Harry to him and dug his knuckles into Harry's scalp, but the raven-haired boy hardly noticed. He was more focused on the warmth he felt on his cheek where it was squished to Seamus' toned chest. He fought his urge to blush and shoved his friend off of him.

"Hey, Seamus," Harry muttered, surreptitiously taking in the body of the boy – strike that! – man in front of him. Seamus had filled out quite nicely in the last few months and Harry barely managed to stop his chin from dropping to the ground. "You're looking… tan," he finished lamely.

Seamus winked and, much to Harry's horror, he lost control of his blush and felt his cheeks heat up. He also noticed that his nether regions had taken notice.

Luckily, no one noticed as Seamus had gone around hugging everyone present. Harry just wanted to get on the Hogwarts Express and sit down before he embarrassed himself.

"Ron, we shouldn't neglect our duties just because _you _didn't get enough breakfast," Hermione sighed in resignation while she watched Ron dump half a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans into his mouth.

"I'm not going out there until I know for sure that Malfoy is done patrolling the corridors," Ron managed through his overstuffed mouth.

"You're impossible, Ron," Hermione huffed. "Someday you're going to have to get over this childish rivalry with him. He came out on the good side of the war in the end."

"I still can't believe McGonagall is letting him back into school. He's such a…"

Harry was only half listening to the argument, which was similar to the petty squabbles he'd been subjected to every day over the summer. With Ron and Hermione getting closer to admitting their attraction to each other, their bickering had become almost unbearable. But he didn't dare to call them out on fighting like a married couple. No, no, no. He'd learned his lesson. Last time Harry had done that, Hermione had hexed him with a very painful rash between his arse cheeks that had persisted for days.

Before long, Harry drifted off to sleep, accompanied by the sound of his best friends arguing and Ginny's humming.

"Oh yeah, Seamus! Right there!" Harry moaned into the wall he was pushed up against.

"You like that, do you?" Seamus grunted out, thrusting back into Harry's tight hole.

Harry turned his head to look behind him into Seamus' eyes before smashing their lips together in a searing kiss. All the while, Seamus was pumping in and out of Harry's arse, setting a furious pace. Suddenly, Harry felt his orgasm building, racing through his veins. He released his hold on Seamus' lips before shouting.

"Oh Merlin, I'm gunna—"

"CUMMM!" Harry awoke with a shout, feeling himself explode and coat the inside of his trousers. He was brought out of his daze when he heard Ginny's embarrassed gasp beside him. Harry froze, looking through wide eyes at the redheaded girl next to him. He vaguely noticed that Ron and Hermione were no longer there and assumed that they were on patrol. Thank Merlin!

Ginny stared back, wishing she could reverse time and not witness Harry having a wet dream. She'd heard him murmuring in his sleep and had at first thought he was having a nightmare, perhaps a flashback to the Final Battle. But then she heard him moan something that sounded suspiciously like 'Seamus' and realized what was actually happening. From then on she couldn't force herself to turn away or flee the compartment.

"Um…" Ginny started to say.

Harry dropped his head into his hands, thinking 'why, me?' and trying to come up with an explanation quickly. When he finally looked up, he noticed that Ginny's expression had changed from horrified to mischievous.

"Nice dream, then?" she said innocently, though the smirk she sported ruined any attempt at that image.

Harry groaned pathetically. "You witnessed that, did you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Well, you _are _sitting right next to me," Ginny replied. Then her smirk turned wicked as she continued. "Did you know that you talk in your sleep?"

Harry's head jerked towards her.

"Um…what?" he squeaked.

"Oh yes," she said, all embarrassment replaced by amusement in her eyes. "Sounded like you were having a good time with your dream-version of a certain Irish 8th year."

Harry dropped his head back into his hands and wished the seat he sat in would swallow him up. No one knew he'd come to fancy boys, and he had hoped to keep it that way for as long as possible.

"You won't—you won't tell anyone, will you? I haven't even told Ron or Hermione."

Ginny saw the abject terror and pleading in his emerald eyes and felt her amusement dim. She decided not to torture him too much.

"Well I don't know…" she drawled. "Harry Potter, The Savior, GAY?! This could be some juicy gossip for the whole school."

At this, Harry's jaw dropped. Ginny had just sounded positively Slytherin.

"B-b-but," Harry tried desperately to speak. Ginny relented.

"Okay, Mr. Hero. I promise not to tell anyone," she said while pulling her pseudo-brother to her to plant a kiss on his temple. "But, I want to know details. Every dirty thing!"

Harry grinned up at her. He'd just found himself a confidante.

Harry joined his friends on the carriage ride to the castle, sitting next to a smug looking Ginny. When Ron had asked her why she looked so self-satisfied, she'd simply told him to shove off. Harry had breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Looking around the Great Hall, Harry found himself gawking at the pristine condition. He knew that wizards and witches from all over the British Isles and even the continent had come to help in the repair of Hogwarts, but he had not expected it to look like there had never been a battle. The only difference that even hinted at the war was the banner behind the staff table. Instead of the usual Hogwarts banner, there was a sign done up in all of the House colors that proclaimed, _"FALLEN, BUT NOT FORGOTTEN."_

Once he'd taken in the room, Harry turned his attention to his Housemates. His gaze wandered over those at his table and he couldn't stop the thoughts in his head, though he tried not to show any outward sign that his libido was rising. 'Since when did Dean grow so tall, and when had Neville's jawline developed into such a masculine look?' He skipped over Seamus—because he was certain the boy had a clue as to his earlier reaction—and Ron, because Ron was his brother in all but blood.

Looking away from the Gryffindors, Harry took in some of the other boys Hogwarts had to offer. He noticed Michael Corner of Ravenclaw had grown out of his acne and into his ears and, ignoring the snooty look on his face, he looked rather handsome. At the Hufflepuff table, Ernie Macmillan was looking very cute, though he looked younger than the rest of the 8th years; perhaps he would age better than the rest…

Harry was brought out of his contemplation when Ron leaned into him too quickly, knocking their heads together.

"Bloody Hell, Ron!" Harry growled. "Watch where you put that big head of yours." This sent Hermione into giggles, and caused Ron's face to heat up.

"Sorry, mate," Ron responded, rubbing his forehead. "I was just trying to get a better view of which Slytherins came back to complete their N.E.W.T.S."

Harry craned his neck but couldn't get a very good view of the Slytherin table across the hall. There were too many heads in the way for that. It hardly mattered because at that moment, Headmistress McGonagall stood and cleared her throat. The Great Hall fell silent, though not as quickly as it had for Dumbledore, Harry noticed. He was strangely absent any pangs of sadness. But it had been a year, and seeing the man in the 'other world'—as he had dubbed the place where he'd gone when he'd died—had helped him to lay his anger and sadness aside. It was for this very reason that Harry had been able to move on so quickly after the Final Battle; he knew that those who'd passed on had ended up in a peaceful place, away from the effects of war.

"My dear students," McGonagall began. "I cannot tell you how it warms my heart to see so many of you back to continue your education." At this, she broke off with her emotions catching in her throat. Professor Flitwick handed her his handkerchief which she used to dab at her eyes. Harry and Ginny shared a grin at Hermione's similarly teary eyes.

"This is the beginning of a new era in our world, a time of rebuilding lost connections, reacquainting with friends and of course, a new school year," she continued. At this, some of the students groaned, not looking forward to having to do homework again. After all, they'd spent the whole summer in celebrations for Harry and those that fought alongside him. They'd toasted Voldemort's death, for the first time using his name instead of avoiding it out of fear. The only reading to be done had been what the press was writing about Harry and Rita Skeeter's daily articles delving into the life of Tom Riddle, mistreated youth-turned Dark Lord.

"Now, now," McGonagall chided. "Let us not complain that we are able to go back to the mundane life of school and homework. It is a gift to be back, and I hope you each feel as lucky as I to be back." At this, Harry stood and cheered, followed swiftly by most of the other students in the Great Hall. Again, Harry couldn't see past the other students to see the Slytherins. Oh, the joys of being full head shorter than all of his classmates. He couldn't see a thing.

Minerva waited for the cheering to die down before continuing, "We have officially stricken the previous school year from the record. Everything that took place, prefects chosen, exams passed or failed, and anything else that occurred has been nullified." She waited a few seconds for the murmurs to die down. Once they had, she smiled broadly, clearly pleased with the coming announcement.

"And because of the unusual summer spent rebuilding our beloved castle, we were unable to send out the usual notices in this year's school letters. Because of this it is my pleasure to announce who our Head Boy and Girl will be." At this, all of Hermione's restlessness returned full force. And to think she'd been doing such a good job of keeping still. After a year on the run, she'd found it hard to remain in one place for long, always pacing about or running miles to stay fit. In fact, the only stillness she usually found was when reading.

"Due to the return of our 8th year students, we have two sets of students to choose from. After much careful thought and discussion between myself and the staff, we have decided to choose a Head Boy and Girl from both the 7th and 8th year classes," McGonagall finished.

At this pronouncement, the Great Hall exploded in excited whispering. Harry looked at Hermione and chuckled to himself. She had gone completely white. Ron laughed out loud before finally speaking.

"Look at you, Hermione," he said, leaning over Harry to speak with the brunette. "I haven't seen you look this nervous since before we took the O. ."

Hermione's cheeks reddened in embarrassment as she began to speak. "Just because you don't care about your own success doesn't mean I have to be just as apathetic, _Ronald._ I happen to care about my future, now that Voldemort is gone and I know I'll be able to live safely and actually find a career. Being Head Girl would open up more opportunities for me!"

By the time she had finished, Hermione was dragging angry breaths in and exhaling in a huff. Ron looked like he was facing the Dark Lord himself, and Harry couldn't help laughing at both of them, though on the inside. He had no death wish.

"When I announce you name, please come to the front to collect your badge," the Headmistress said before pulling out a small scroll that, Harry assumed, had the four names of the students to become all-powerful, in a strictly non-crazy-dark-lord way of course.

"First, from 7th year—Genevra Weasley!" The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers. Ginny, face redder than her fiery hair, slowly stood and walked to the staff table where McGonagall waited. She was grinning from ear to ear from excitement, pride, and a large amount of embarrassment. Harry couldn't stop the grin that came in his excitement for his friend and confidante. Once Ginny had made it to the front, McGonnagall continued.

"Kevin Entwhistle!" she announced. The Ravenclaw table was the one to explode in noise this time. Harry watched as a boy he'd never seen before walked forward. He was almost as cute as Seamus, in Harry's opinion, but didn't have quite the same sex appeal.

After a moment, the students had settled again, allowing for the normally stern Headmistress to continue.

"Now, from the 8th year—Hermione Granger!" Gryffindor erupted again into cheers and Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair, though she didn't move from her seat. "Miss Granger, if you'll please join us up front," McGonagall said, a spark of amusement appearing in her eyes. The brunette finally rose from her seat and practically ran to the front.

"Finally, our 8th year Head Boy will be…" Minerva paused for dramatic effect. After all, someone had to keep Albus' mischievousness alive.

At this, the entire Great Hall focused their stares on Harry, assuming that it was a lock that The Saviour would be chosen. Harry shrunk down further in his seat, trying to avoid as many of those stares as possible. People started murmuring to those around them before turning and looking expectantly at the Headmistress.

"Draco Malfoy."

All sound stopped and the room took a collective breath as if trying to understand what McGonagall had actually said. Surely she wouldn't choose a Slytherin as Head Boy…

Harry watched as Draco stood, seeing him for the first time. The boy who had been his greatest rival at school had grown into a man, his body filling out the sharp angles he used to sport. He now looked muscular, strong, and not at all the pale, pointy boy he had been. His jaw had grown more chiseled, and his eyes had gone from gray to the most spectacular silver.

Those eyes turned and immediately landed on Harry. The moment they did, Harry felt his breath leave him in one giant rush, leaving him gaping at this beautiful specimen of man. He noticed that Malfoy's pale face tinged pink under his scrutiny. He finally turned away and walked to the front of the room, joining the others. Harry continued to stare, noticing that Malfoy walked with purpose and confidence. Lost was the arrogant strut of the spoiled prat he had once been. In his place was Draco Malfoy, inheritor of the wizarding world's largest fortune, and surely the most handsome man on Earth.

Harry could feel his body responding to the sight. 'Oh no,' he thought. 'This is going to be a difficult year.'

Draco walked back to his seat in a daze. When he'd stood up, his eyes had automatically turned to seek out Potter. He hadn't meant to, it'd just happened. He'd always been drawn to the git. And then when he found the messy boy their eyes locked. Draco briefly noticed that the boy was no longer as unkempt as he had once been. For one, his hair was no longer a raven's nest. Potter had grown his wavy black hair out, just passed his ears. The longest strands curled up just a bit, giving him a look of innocence. Also, he'd ditched his glasses and had, Draco assumed, gotten a magical cure.

Other than the physical changes, Draco had noticed the better clothing Potter wore under his robes. Instead of the worn out, too-large rags he'd shown up wearing previous years, Potter now wore newer, well-tailored clothing that suited his slight frame perfectly. His jumper was green, highlighting the boy's emerald eyes and Draco had to force himself to look away lest he become hopelessly captivated.

As he sat back down in his seat, he looked up and subconsciously sought out Potter again. 'Blast,' he thought. 'Of course he's too damn short to see across the room.'

Ah well, he'd have to content himself with fingering his new Head Boy badge. Shocking that, to come back to Hogwarts to be made Head Boy. Many had protested his return to the school. Indeed, many had even lobbied that he should have been sent to Azkaban along with the rest of his family.

Thanks to superior legal representation from the Malfoy family's personal solicitor, and none other than Potter's testimony of his and his mother's actions, they'd been spared the fate of a life rotting away in a prison. Granted, his parents were now under a semi-permanent house arrest, allowed out for approved Ministry events and nothing else. But, Draco was just happy that he was able to keep them in his life.

Draco had been made head of the Malfoy family and fortunes, unbeknownst to most of the world, and had then been charged a hefty fine for his family's war crimes. Despite the fact that the sentence had drained an entire vault of the Malfoy wealth, Draco was hardly worried. They had hundreds just like it, not to mention properties all over Europe. No, the Malfoy family would be fine, and Draco was free to do his best to change the reputation his father had cultivated.

He glanced around, seeing if anyone had noticed his attention wandering. Of course, no one had. Only two of his actual friends, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, had returned to complete their schooling. The others were either in jail or dead. Draco preferred not to think about it. He turned his attention back to his two best friends sitting across from him and joined in their argument, all thoughts of his reaction to Potter forgotten for the time being.

Harry sat down heavily in his favorite chair by the fire. Of all the rewards and special attention he'd received for defeating Voldemort, Harry liked this one the best. Out of respect, this chair, which all of his Housemates knew to be his preferred seat, was left empty.

He stared into the fire and ignored the bickering of Ron and Hermione, wishing they'd just shag and be done with it. Though the fired burned bright and orange, all Harry could see was molten silver. He'd been unable to get rid of the feelings he'd had when staring into those eyes. Eyes that belonged to his former rival. Eyes that belonged on the man he'd once thought was evil and capable of murder.

He'd heard the real reasons why Malfoy had concocted all of his stupid schemes in 6th year. He'd been threatened with the death of his family if he didn't kill Dumbledore, and what 16 year old wizard wouldn't have cracked and bowed to the pressure? Harry knew that if his own parents had been alive, he'd have done much the same thing to save him, so he could hardly hold a grudge for the boy's actions.

Furthermore, it appeared as if the boy who'd been at Hogwarts had died, replaced with a new, more mature Malfoy. One who looked like he was ready to be a man, get his education and make something of himself. How Harry knew all of this from a single, albeit intense, look he didn't know. But his intuition told him that was the case, and he'd learned to trust his intuition. It had saved his life multiple times.

Harry was pulled from his contemplation when a pillow, thrown by Hermione of all people, sailed passed her intended target of Ron and hit him squarely in the face.

He blinked in shock and then took in Hermione's guilty face. Glancing at Ron, he saw that the redhead boy looked more shocked than Harry felt.

All of a sudden, another pillow flew by Harry's head, coming from somewhere behind him to hit Ron in the face.

"That," Ginny said smugly, putting her wand away from where she'd used it to direct the pillow's trajectory, "is how to properly throw a pillow."

Hermione's face lit up in glee even as she tried to conceal her giggles. Harry didn't even attempt to hold back his laughter. Ron's face was priceless; he sputtered for a moment before glaring at Ginny, and then glancing between Harry and Ron.

"Is that any way for our joint-Head Girls to act?" Ron said with well-cultivated mock-insult.

At this, both Hermione and Ginny lost their composure and began laughing, almost a cackle to Harry's ears.

"They're going to be dangerous this year," he said to Ron through his laughter.

After a few more moments of laughter, they settled down and Ginny dragged her chair over to join the trio. When she caught Harry's eye, she winked, causing him to blush. Of course, since they were sitting by the fire, no one should notice. Harry never saw Hermione's speculative look.

"Where are we supposed to sleep?" Ron asked out of the blue. "I mean, it's not like we can keep our dorm, since the new 7th years will be moving in there tonight."

"Oh, didn't you read the reverse side of the welcome letter?" Hermione asked him. "It said that all 8th years would be staying in the East Tower together. We'll also share all of our classes together since there are so few of us."

Harry, having neglected the last page just like Ron, opened his eyes in surprise.

"You mean we'll be sharing dorms with Malfoy?" he choked. "And the other boys as well, I suppose," he added hastily in an attempt to cover his interest in Malfoy. It didn't work, and he could tell Ginny had noticed the blush creeping up his neck, if the way she raised her eyebrow was anything to go by. Hermione also noticed his reaction, though she was confused as to what it meant.

"No, Harry," she said in amusement. "We each get private rooms. We have to share bathrooms of course. But that's hardly anything to fuss about."

Hermione looked at the clock on the wall.

"Oh! Look at the time!" she yelled jumping up. "It's thirty minutes until curfew and we need to get settled into our new rooms."

And with that, she took off for the door like she was being chased. Harry and Ron waved goodbye to Ginny before also leaving the Gryffindor common room.

The East Tower common room seemed cozy. The color scheme was clearly meant to not favor any house, with its purples accented by a lovely cream color that Harry found he rather liked. There were two fireplaces, in opposite corners of the room, and the furniture was more modern than what Harry was used to in the Gryffindor common room. It looked comfortable though. The stairways to the dorms were located in the two corners not taken up with fireplaces. Harry and Ron went up the stairs labeled "Wizards" and looked for empty rooms.

Being the last two to arrive and select a room, there were only two left. Ron claimed the one next in between Neville and Blaise, and Harry located the last room without a name on it. It was at the end of the rather short hallway that ran between all of the boy's rooms, next to the bathroom. He opened the door and walked in.

As soon as Harry entered the room, all of his things magically appeared, as did a House Elf. Harry felt a brief pang of sadness at the loss of the world's bravest House Elf, Dobby. But after a moment, he realized the elf had been talking the whole time.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked quietly.

"Is Master Harry wanting his room changed to Gryffindor colors?" he squeaked. "Ridi can change them if this is being Master Harry's wish, sir."

Harry crouched down until he was nearly eye to eye with the small elf and smiled.

"That would be wonderful, Ridi. Thank you," Harry responded, bowing his head just slightly. "And please, just call me Harry."

"Oh, yes sir!" squeaked the visibly excited elf as he bounced while bowing. "Reedy is doing whatever Master—Ridi means _Harry _is wanting."

And with that, the elf snapped his fingers and the room changed from the purple and cream into scarlet and gold, though more tasteful than in the actual Gryffindor tower. The duvet was a deep red, almost black, set with bright scarlet and gold embroidering. The curtains were the same dark color, and instead of carpet, the floor was a polished stone.

Harry slipped his shoes off and was delighted to discover the Warming Charm beneath his feet. He opened his trunk to get his toiletries and then proceeded to walk out from his room.

And right into Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy was not prepared for when someone ran right into him. They fell to the ground together, Draco landing roughly on his back and the other boy on top of him.

"What the fuck?!" Draco shouted, lowering his gaze to see who his attacker was. He was shocked to find Potter staring up at him with bright, round, and frightened eyes.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Malfoy!" Potter sputtered, trying to hastily remove himself from Draco's person. Potter's face had gone as scarlet as the hand towel he carried, and Draco could feal the pulses of fear radiating from him like a heartbeat.

"It's fine, Potter," he said, breaking eye contact to pick himself up off of the floor. "Just watch where you're going. You survived the Dark Lord's wrath, so I'd hate to have to kill you out of sheer annoyance."

Potter just gaped back at him, clearly not knowing how to respond to a Malfoy who joked around. Draco smirked and then sauntered into the bathroom, fighting the urge to look back and see if Potter was still staring. He knew his arse looked good in his silk sleeping pants.

Harry stood, transfixed on the spot Malfoy had just left. He'd made a fool out of himself by running right into the very person he'd been thinking about the whole evening. Not only had he run into him, but he'd sent them crashing to the floor, landing with his face on Malfoy's muscular chest.

Harry had barely been able to squeak out an apology, he was so embarrassed. It didn't help that Malfoy's gaze, combined with the feel of his body, had made Harry immediately hard. He stood, carefully concealing his bulge behind his towel.

And then Malfoy had made a joke and Harry had been incapable of thought. The man's face was gorgeous, now that it didn't feature a permanent sneer. While Harry just stood there frozen, covering his physical rection, Malfoy smirked and then walked into the bathroom, swaying his hips back and forth. Harry's eyes had glued themselves to the firm, rounded cheeks of Malfoy's bum which looked incredible in the thin material of his sleeping pants. He was pretty sure that the boy was wearing no underwear.

Once the blonde was through the door and out of sight, Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts, willed his erection down and followed him into the bathroom. He tried his best not to look at Malfoy as he stepped up to brush his teeth at the sink next to the reformed Death Eater. He stared at his own reflection and counted his brush strokes, all part of his simple plan to keep his attention from straying to the model of a man next to him.

It almost worked too.

Malfoy reached with his left hand for the glass of water on the back of the sink, and Harry couldn't help but look at the exposed, pale flesh. There was no Dark Mark.

"You don't—" Harry began to say without thinking, toothbrush still in his mouth. He clamped his jaw shut to stop himself from finishing his question.

The blonde turned and looked Harry directly in the eye, a half-hearted sneer on his face. Malfoy appeared visibly upset at the question he knew Harry had almost asked.

"What, Potter?" he asked sharply. "I don't have the Mark? That's what you were going to ask wasn't it?"

Harry had the grace to look ashamed. He had told himself and he had believed that Malfoy had never truly been a Death Eater. He'd been coerced to do Voldemort's bidding. Having an evil madman threatening your mother's life left you with few options at the age of sixteen. Harry had said he was going to give Malfoy a chance, perhaps strike up a long overdue friendship, but he may have just shot himself in the proverbial foot.

"Shit, Malfoy," Harry said, looking down at the sink in front of him. "I'm sorry about that. I know your reasons for the things you did. I shouldn't have blurted that out."

When Harry looked back up, Malfoy was still staring at him intently but the sneer was gone.

"It's okay," he said. "I'm a bit touchy about the subject." And with that, Malfoy gathered his things left the room.

Harry groaned at himself in the mirror. He had spoken without thought, his brain-to-mouth filter unsurprisingly absent, and made an arse of himself. 'Well, that went well. I wonder how long I'll go tomorrow before I insult him,' he thought acerbically. The black-haired wizard had changed a lot over the last two years, but one thing that had not changed was his uncanny ability to stick his own foot in his mouth.

He spit out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth out before leaving the bathroom and turning immediately and entering his own room. He was still unaware that the blonde his thoughts focused on lay in a bed separated only by a stone wall.

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End Chapter One  
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_A/N: Hey guys, it's been a very long time since I have written any fanfic, so this is my first venture. When I began writing it, it was supposed to be a bit of fluff. However, there's this plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone, so I gave in and started writing what will probably be a novel-length story. Oops. Let me know what you think! _


	2. Back in the Swing of Things

**Title: The Return**

**Disclaimer: **I'm so not J.K…

**Rating: R**

**Pairing: H/D**

**Warnings: **Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary: **It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

**Chapter 2: ****Back in the Swing of Things**

Draco awoke slowly, images of dark hair and green eyes fading quickly as sleep left him. When he sat up in his bed, he had the vague idea that Potter had been the feature of all of his dreams. He rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his face and looked around his dorm room.

His bedding was a silver colored duvet with deep green satin sheets, the floor a deep green shag carpet. The wood of his four poster bed and his desk were dark Purpleheart, from South America. 'Quite expensive taste for Hogwarts,' Draco thought, appreciatively.

He forced himself out of his comfortable bed and gathered his things to take a shower. Draco took pride in his appearance and was used to waking up before everyone else so he could have a proper shower. None of those fifteen minute speed washes that most of his former roommates had favored. An hour or two was proper, and not poncey at all.

Upon entering the bathroom, Draco was surprised to hear a shower already running in one of the stalls. The scarlet towel hanging from the hook outside the curtain told him it was a Gryffindor behind the curtain. The only question was which one.

As if in answer to his unspoken question, the water shut off, the curtain was pulled back a bit and none other than the Gryffindor Golden Boy popped his head out to grab his towel. When Harry saw him, he froze in his reach for the towel and lost his hold on the curtain.

Draco spun quickly to avoid seeing anything. He may have noticed that Potter was fit—extremely fit he had just learned—and of course it wasn't his fault the boy dropped the curtain, but Draco was certainly not a voyeur. He was a Malfoy, and though Malfoys were intensely sexual beings when involved in carnal relationships, they did not peep on others like some commoner.

When he heard the sounds of Potter drying off in his stall, Draco slowly turned back and selected an empty shower for himself. As he undressed, he could hear the sounds of Potter getting his shower kit together and pulling the curtain back. Draco almost made to sneak a peek, but controlled himself and instead turned the water on.

He didn't, however, stop his mind from remembering the glimpse of pale skin he'd gotten when the curtain had fallen open. He'd only seen one side of Potter's body, but that hint of skin indicated that he had filled out rather well. Potter's left thigh was tan and quite muscled as was his arm. Draco had caught sight of his hairless armpit and small, pert nipple. When Draco's cock began to rise, he debated whether he was really going to allow himself wank to thoughts of Potter.

Deciding that what happened in his head stayed in his head, Draco reached down and grasped himself firmly, beginning to stroke slowly. His hand slid up and down his cock as he thought of Potter opening his shower curtain on purpose and inviting him to join.

He imagined closing the shower curtain behind him before turning and capturing Potter's lips with his own. He slipped his hand down the boy's back before grabbing his firm arse and squeezing. He reached with his other hand and grabbed Potter's cock in his hand, begging him to do the same to him. 'Touch me,' Draco heard his fantasy-self saying. They stood there and snogged fiercely while working each other to completion.

With a discreet gasp, Draco opened his eyes as he shot his seed all over the wall in front of him. His legs trembled, only just supporting his weight. He leaned against the wall to keep upright as he watched the only evidence of his imaginary encounter wash down the drain. With a sigh, Draco went about his standard morning regiment, finishing as others began entering the bathroom and getting ready to start the year.

* * *

Harry couldn't stop blushing as he dressed in his room. Malfoy had seen him naked, even if just a tiny bit for just a second. He'd been shocked into stillness when he'd opened his curtain to grab his towel. Waking early had become so ingrained in him that Harry imagined he would wake before dawn for the rest of his life. As such, his shower time had become something of a sacrosanct personal time. He could wake slowly, allowing the steaming water to coax his body and mind into alertness.

He definitely wasn't expecting anyone else to be awake so early, and of course it had been Malfoy. 'Dammit, what an idiot,' Harry thought as he realized hadn't made it more than half an hour before making a fool of himself in front of the blonde. Maybe he'd used all his good fortune beating Moldie Voldie, and now was cursed to spend his life being awkward.

When he finished getting dressed he grabbed his Transfiguration book and took it downstairs to the common room. There was still an hour before breakfast, and Harry decided to get a good start to the year. He opened his book and began reading. After a while, Hermione joined him. She looked at him strangely for already reading his text book and Harry smirked at her; he knew she'd read the whole curriculum over the summer.

At that moment, Malfoy entered the common room and Harry blushed red. He sank further down into his text to hide the redness creeping up his face. The blonde looked over at him and smirked before he went to the table by the window and sat, opening a book and taking notes.

Harry turned his gaze back to his book, fighting the urge to openly stare at the other boy. He had looked delectable in a warm, deep blue jumper and brown suede trousers. Looking down at himself, Harry noticed that he was wearing his nicest green jumper and his new black trousers. He hadn't been aware while dressing that he wore his best, but imagined that he'd subconsciously wanted to impress the pale boy.

He inwardly sighed at his own actions, thanking Merlin that he at least hadn't spent the whole morning fretting about what to wear. He was not a girl and he'd be damned if he was going to start acting like one because of Draco bloody Malfoy.

Looking up, he noticed Hermione wiping the suspicion off of her face as she looked back down at her book. Harry groaned aloud, just loud enough that Hermione heard him and looked back up at him. She raised just one eyebrow and Harry couldn't help his smirk. This was a mannerism both she and Malfoy shared; they were quite expressive with their eyebrows, a skill Harry did not possess.

"I think I need to tell you something," Harry said, wincing at the timid sound of his own voice.

A smirk to match the raised eyebrow appeared on Hermione's face at Harry's statement. "Let's go sit on the couch by the fire," she said, indicating the couch in the corner of the room farthest from Malfoy.

Harry nodded his head and followed her and sat down beside her on the sofa. He took a few breaths, hoping to steady his nerves. With a low voice, he began speaking.

"Over the summer, I started to realize something about myself. I don't think it ever occurred to me before then because I spent so much time worrying about Voldemort that I never had a moment to worry about myself. About normal teenaged boy things."

Hermione nodded her sympathy and took his hand in hers.

"Well, after a few… enlightening dreams, I realized that I'm— I'm gay…" Harry finished, dropping his gaze down into his lap where his and Hermione's hands rested.

"I'm glad you had the courage to tell me Harry," she said, earnestly.

"Gryffindor 'til the end," he responded, smiling slightly at her.

"Still, it's not an easy thing to open up about one's sexual preferences to one's friends. Although, I have to say, I had my suspicions."

Harry's eyes widened at that pronouncement. "You what? How?"

"Well," she said, smirking now. "You never took the opportunity to get back together with Ginny after The War was over, like you said you would. You started to keep a physical distance from Ron, when you'd never done so before. And then there were all the times when Charlie was around that you couldn't take your eyes off of him."

Harry, being the mature eighteen year-old wizard that he was, stuck his tongue out at his best friend. "Why didn't you mention anything?" he asked, and then panicked. "Was I _that_ obvious?"

Hermione frowned. "Don't worry, Harry. You're not that obvious. I noticed because I know you better than anyone else, besides Ron. I'm just more observant. Anyway, it wasn't my place to bring it up. I knew you'd mention it when you felt comfortable enough to do so. Does anyone else know?"

"Ginny," Harry grimaced.

"What?" Hermione seemed surprised, but not hurt like Harry thought she might have. "When did you tell her?"

"I didn't," he said. "She witnessed a—um… a dream I had. Apparently I talk in my sleep…"

Hermione couldn't help herself, she giggled. Harry wasn't aware of just how cute Hermione (and everyone else who'd seen it) thought his pouty face was. He looked up as he heard noise of other people starting to make their way down the stairs.

Malfoy stood from his spot at the table and, after returning his book and parchment to his bag, walked to the tower's exit. As he passed by Harry, he raised one elegant eyebrow and inclined his head as way of greeting.

Harry's only response was to blush slightly and nod his head once. Hermione waited until he was out the door to pounce.

"Shit, Harry!" the brunette exclaimed. "You've got the hots for Malfoy!"

It was neither a question nor an accusation. It was a statement filled with glee.

"I know who Harry likes," Hermione taunted, causing said boy's jaw to drop. He had not expected her to take that revelation so well. In fact, he had not planned on letting her, or anyone else for that matter, know that he lusted after the blonde bombshell. It was just a physical reaction anyway and meant nothing

"I don't like him. I just think he's hot," Harry said while looking down at his lap, blushing. "Wait. You're not mad?" he asked incredulously. "Not even a little bit?"

"Why would I be mad?" the girl asked, tilting her head to the side with a small frown. "He ended up on our side. He had a good reason for his stupidity during 6th year. Plus, you've already defended his innocence, and I trust your judgment."

Harry looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and then launched himself at her, hugging his best friend fiercely.

"Come on, there's Ron," Hermione said. "That means it must be time for breakfast."

* * *

Their schedules were handed out at breakfast as usual; the only difference was that McGonagall wasn't the one passing out the Gryffindor schedules. Remus Lupin was back as the Defense Against the Dark Arts as well as the Head of Gryffindor House. Harry couldn't complain, as Lupin had been the best Defense teacher he'd had in all his years at Hogwarts.

He looked down at the slip of parchment that was his schedule. He was taking seven N.E.W.T.S for which he thought he was more than a little crazy. Hermione was taking eight, so he didn't feel so bad. His first class was Transfiguration, and his others included DADA, Care of Magical Creatures, Advanced Potions, Charms, Herbology, and Healing. Harry was no longer taking Astronomy or History of Magic, because the classes were O.W.L level only and absolutely boring, respectively.

Healing was a new N.E.W.T level course that Madame Pomfrey had decided should be an option for students interested in the career, rather than blindly entering the very difficult apprenticeship programs available after Hogwarts. Though being an Auror had been a dream for Harry, after spending the last seven years forced to fight evil, he had decided he was through with violence. He knew he had the necessary power to be a Healer, and the idea of helping people without having to hurt others appealed to him.

Harry ate in silence while Ron pestered Hermione with his opinion of the insanity of taking eight N.E.W.T.S. Ron had chosen to drop Potions and was only taking the five required N.E.W.T courses. This had become a common topic of contention between them, and really only because Ron couldn't manage to express his real opinion, that he thought Hermione was brilliant.

"Again, _Ronald_," Hermione said. "I happen to like all of the classes I'm in, and if I can earn at least an Exceeds Expectations on each of my N.E.W.T.S, I'll have far more opportunities after graduation."

Harry grinned at Ron for once again bringing the wrath of Hermione upon himself. "You know you'll get an 'O' in every class," he said, rolling his eyes at her.

"Oh, like you're one to talk, Harry," Ron said, "_Seven? _You're almost as crazy as Hermione."

"Hey!" shouted Ginny. "I'll have you know that I'm taking seven too, Ron. And you had better not call me crazy. I know plenty of hexes to make your man bits mighty uncomfortable."

Upon hearing this, Ron gulped and went back to his eating. Hermione giggled and gave Ginny a high five.

Harry just continued to grin and went back to stuffing his face with sausages and eggs. He looked forward to going back to class. Missing a year from Hogwarts had been necessary, but it was also one of the hardest things Harry had ever done. He agreed wholeheartedly with McGonagall and was very grateful to be back. Hogwarts was his home.

When Ron finally finished eating, the Golden Trio plus one Ginny Weasley exited the Great Hall to get their books before class.

* * *

Upon entering the Transfiguration classroom, the 8th years were surprised to see the Headmistress sitting in her animagus form on the teacher's desk. The new Transfiguration professor, Skye Johnston, had been introduced last night at the feast (to the sounds of catcalls from the older boys who found the unusually young new professor quite attractive).

Ron and Hermione took seats next to each other, leaving Harry to take one of the empty chairs across the aisle. After he'd sat down and taken out his book, quills and parchment, he looked up to see Blaise Zabini sinking into the chair next to him.

"Hey, Potter," Blaise said, amicably enough before getting his own supplies out. Harry returned the greeting as Blaise leaned back to borrow a quill from whoever had sat behind Harry.

"It's our first class and you're already unprepared," Draco drawled. Harry was the one that was unprepared. Unprepared for the silky baritone voice that sent shivers up and down His spine and caused his pants to tighten. He could imagine the look of disdain that always accompanied that tone of voice. "I should take points off of you just for starting the year off poorly."

Blaise just grinned back and sat heavily back in his chair, noticeably closer to Harry than he had been. The moment everyone was in the room and in their seats, McGonagall transformed back into her regular, severe looking self, only she was smiling which was unusual.

"I will personally be teaching Transfiguration to you 8th years, but no one else," the professor said. "I can't say why, but I have a soft spot for this graduating class." With that, she gave a wink in Harry's direction before sweeping her approving gaze over the whole of the classroom.

"All of you not only survived a war, most of you fought on the front line," McGonagall continued, her face growing more serious. "Many of you saw things that most adults would have been unable to handle. And after all of this, you chose to come back to Hogwarts and finish your education. For that, I am proud of each and every one of you."

And it was clear that she was. Harry could see the pride glistening in her eyes as she swept her gaze around the room, stopping briefly at each student, even Malfoy.

"Of course, war heroes or not, you're all very lacking in a consistent education and I imagine you'll need to work very hard to make it up this year before taking your N.E.W.T.S." And at the mention of the end-of-year exams, the students all groaned and settled in to take notes.

As the class carried on, Harry came to learn that Blaise Zabini was left-handed; the two boys' hands kept bumping into each other as they reached to dip their quills into their inkpots. In fact, it was happening so often that Harry almost started to wonder if Blaise was doing it on purpose. Almost.

The brunette had just settled his thoughts when he felt a warm thigh brushing up against his. He froze, his heart beating wildly while he struggled to draw in consistent breaths, afraid his nervous inhalations would be heard and give away how affected he was by such a simple thing.

Harry allowed himself to think Blaise was doing this on purpose now. 'Blaise is _flirting _with me?' he thought, still trying to steady himself. The thigh never moved away from his and Harry felt his cock stir in his pants, quickly inflating to strain against his trousers.

He slouched in his chair, trying to hide his erection while searching for a more comfortable sitting position. Blaise used this opportunity to more fully press his leg against Harry's, now touching from hip to toe. At the increased closeness, Harry felt the first stickiness of pre-cum soaking into his underwear and prayed for the end of class which was still thirty minutes away.

'Merlin,' he thought, wryly. 'I can vanquish a barking-mad Dark Lord, but I can't handle my own erection!'

Draco could not concentrate for the life of him. He was seated almost all the way in the back, which was bad enough for his short attention span that plagued him in every class but potions. To add to his distraction, Potter was constantly squirming directly in front of him, seemingly unable to sit still. Draco didn't remember Potter being this jittery in the past.

Suddenly, Draco could see the cause to the boy's lack of composure. Blaise, who Draco knew to be ambidextrous but preferred the right hand, had chosen to use his left today, conveniently and 'accidentally' bumping into Potter's hand repeatedly. Looking below the desk, Draco could see that Blaise had also pressed his leg into Potter's.

'What a slut,' he thought viciously, honestly unsure of where the fervor of his sudden emotion came from. Yes, he acknowledged that Potter was hot, but there was no way Potter would ever consider a Slytherin for his bed. Or a boy for that matter. Especially not one Draco Malfoy.

Draco couldn't help the smirk that sprang to life when he noticed Potter slinking down into his seat further. 'Well then, maybe Potter wouldn't be completely opposed to the affections of another man,' he thought, deciding he'd have to at least drop some subtle hints of his own and see how the boy responded. With that having been decided, Draco turned his full attention back to the Headmistress and resumed taking down notes.

Half an hour later, Draco packed his bag up quickly, noticing that Harry seemed to be in quite a hurry. He wanted to simply brush shoulders or something with the other boy, making him acknowledge his presence, maybe get a reaction. But Potter seemed to want out of the room as quickly as possible so Draco hurried too.

"I'll catch up with you at lunch in just a bit," Draco said hastily to Pansy and Blaise, and walked as slowly as he could, which was not really slow at all at the moment, out of the classroom to follow Potter. He saw the boy walking so fast he was practically running, and in the opposite direction of the Great Hall.

Being sure that no one noticed him, he tore after him as quickly and silently as possible, wondering to where the raven-haired boy was going with such haste. When Potter made a left turn into a rarely used hallway, Draco suddenly realized exactly where he was headed—the Prefect's bathroom.

Casting a silencing charm on both the door and his shoes, Draco followed Potter into the bathroom, looking around for any sign of him. He quickly checked the tub room, not really expecting to find the boy there, considering the door was standing wide open. Ignoring the door that led to the shower room, the blonde turned and opened the door that led into the actual bathroom.

Upon entering, he could hear soft, labored breathing. He also heard the familiar sound of skin slapping against skin and the unmistakable squelch of a spit-covered hand working up and down a hard shaft. Someone was wanking. The blonde's eyebrows shot up to his hairline in shock. 'Gods! Potter is wanking!'

Though he had just this morning avowed that Malfoys were not voyeurs, Draco couldn't stop himself from listening in on Potter's most private moments. He rationalized listening by thinking that if he didn't want to be heard, the brunette should have put up a silencing charm like any self-respecting hormonal teenaged wizard would.

The boy's breathing grew louder and the pace at which the squishing and slapping noises could be heard sped up until they were frantic and uneven. Draco slipped his hand into his own trousers and griped his cock. He was pulsing with energy, filled with lust at the wrongfulness of listening to Potter and enjoying every sound he heard. With his free hand, Draco cast a non-verbal silencing bubble around himself, allowing no sound out but hearing every utterance that came from the stall.

Draco leaned back and furiously ran his hand up and down his own hard-on, already close just from the eroticism of the situation. He heard Potter's strangled cry as he climaxed and Draco joined him, eternally thankful he had thought to silence his own ministrations, because this was his second time cumming in a public restroom today and he was not a fan of holding back during his completion.

When he heard the stirrings of the stall's occupant, Draco quickly left the room and stood in front of a sink, turning the water on as if he had only come to the Prefect's bathroom to wash his hands and fix his hair. He waited for Potter to finish cleaning up, looking forward to the awkward stammering that was sure to come.

* * *

Harry sighed; casting a cleaning charm and quickly putting himself back together. He couldn't believe what had just happened in Transfiguration, the mortification of becoming so aroused by such a small and seemingly innocent gesture. And in class no less!

Upon opening the door to leave the bathroom, Harry froze in place at the sight of Draco Malfoy, washing his hands calmly at the sink nearest him. He hardly noticed when the door swung to hit him in the back, immobile from shock and anxiety. He suddenly remembered that, in his frenzy to relieve the pressure that had built up inside of him throughout class, he'd not bothered to cast a silencing charm or even a _muffliato_. He hadn't expected anyone else to make use of the Prefect's bathroom as it was out of the way, and there were bathrooms on the way to the Great Hall. Had Malfoy heard him?

"Erm, hi. Malfoy," he tacked on belatedly. Draco looked askance at him, brow raised taking in his appearance, which Harry admitted was looking ruffled. He'd done himself up just as hastily as he'd launched himself into the throws of personal pleasure and relief.

"Potter," the blonde replied evenly, nodding his head in greeting. He continued to clean his hands, all the while watching Harry as he awkwardly shuffled over to the sink two away from Malfoy, putting a porcelain buffer between them.

"Fancy seeing you here," Harry stammered, averting his viridian eyes. How loud had he been in that bathroom stall? He knew his hand had travelled at a furious pace, trying to bring sweet completion as soon as possible, but he was sure he'd remained quiet vocally, not allowing his usual utterances.

"What is surprising about a bloke washing his hands before lunch?" Draco asked.

"Umm, just—you know, there are other bathrooms on the way down to lunch," Harry replied.

"They use better soaps in here than in the other washrooms, which I prefer," Malfoy casually answered, turning the water off and reaching for a clean hand towel. "I could ask you the same thing, you know. Why did you come here instead of using one of the other bathrooms?"

Harry thought quickly, not expecting his question to be turned back around on him. "Just more peaceful," he offered, grimacing at the banality and obvious falsity of the statement. He decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat and exited through the main door, not bothering to dry his hands or even turn the faucet off.

* * *

Potter had been delightfully flustered, fumbling for questions and answers to cover the awkwardness he had clearly felt, as well as none-to-subtly fishing for whether Draco had known what he was _really_ doing in the bathroom. He had blushed the whole time, and clearly had placed a barrier between them in self-defense. The whole act had been adorable

That had been more fun and far more satisfying than all the times spent making the formerly nicknamed 'Git-Who-Wouldn't-Bugger-Off' angry. Draco wondered why he had never before tried getting under Potter's skin in this fashion. Suddenly, he was very much looking forward to Charms that afternoon. Heading to lunch, Draco began forming a devious plan.

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End Chapter Two  
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_A/N: So I hope you like this chapter as well. Please, please review so I can know what you think so far. If this is absolute trash, tell me now so I have time to fix it! Constructive criticism is vital. _

_I'm hoping to update at least once a week on this story. I won't make any promises, but that's my goal. Feel free to follow this story so that you get the updates. I hope you stick with me, because this story is actually going somewhere, haha._


	3. A Charming Dilemma

**Title: The Return**

**Disclaimer:** I'm so not J.K…

**Rating: R**

**Pairing: H/D**

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

**Chapter 3: A Charming Dilemma**

The next day, after lunch, Draco looked across the aisle at the empty seats that had conveniently failed to be claimed. He knew that after previous day's classes, Potter would want to sit near the back. The blonde had made Defense Against the Dark Arts miserable for The Saviour, leering at him and making sure he thought that Draco 'knew something'. Of course, he _did _know something, but Potter was so good at torturing himself wondering that Draco had yet to mention anything.

So, Draco made sure the seat across from him was available. He also took some time, while people were talking loudly and enjoying the last moments of freedom before class began, to cast a cushioning and Safe-Travels charm on the seat he guessed the ebony-haired boy would choose. The latter spell was intended to make Harry feel at ease in his seat, all the better to startle him later. He planned to get Potter riled up this class but he didn't want Potter making a scene. Today's show was only for Draco.

Finally, the Golden Trio walked into the room together, filing into the last three available seats. The-Boy-Who-Is-Awkward trudged in last, looking extremely wary of his surroundings. Nothing of consequence had happened in Herbology that morning, and it was obvious he was just waiting for something terrible. As expected, he took the last seat, to the right of Granger and directly across from and facing Draco. 'Perfect,' he thought with an inward smile.

Halfway through Charms, it was clear Potter was relaxed. Between the cushioning and Safe-Travels charms as well as the knowledge that he'd made it an entire morning without an incident, the boy had let his guard down. It was time to strike.

Draco already had his Hawthorne wand out since they were practicing semi-permanent sticking charms. He subtly aimed it at Potter, and knowing that no one was aware of his actions, cast his first spell. It would cause the sensation of fingers fluttering up and down the skin wherever Draco willed it to go. He started at the base of Potter's neck, and noticed him flinch.

The blonde kept his features blank while he watched Potter squirm. As the fingers ran down the raven-haired boy's back, he turned and looked behind him to see if someone was there doing this to him. Of course, nobody was. Draco chuckled inwardly, enjoying the unfolding scene.

Draco left the invisible fingers to their work and cast another spell, this time giving the sensation of a warm, wet tongue caressing the ear. This time, Potter shuddered delightfully. He must have discovered a sensitive spot. With nothing but willpower, Draco modified the spell to not only 'lick' his ear, but to seem like someone was whispering sweet nothings to him, too low to clearly hear. He was looking around discreetly, attempting to find who was torturing him in this way

Draco was about to cast his final spell when he noticed Granger staring at him. Her expression was the familiar look of suspicion that he'd become used to in his years at Hogwarts. He raised his left brow at her, and non-verbally cast at Potter. When she felt the boy react next to her, Granger stopped looking suspicious and instead looked amused, which was strange. He returned his attention to Potter once she looked away, pointedly ignoring her best friend's troubles.

* * *

Harry was incredibly angry and incredibly turned on.

He couldn't believe someone was doing this to him. He thought it might be Blaise again, but didn't think the boy smart enough to pull this off. Then he thought he was imagining the whole thing and this was his body's way of telling him to get laid. Honestly, had he not been in class every time this happened, he wouldn't mind in the least.

Straining his ears to hear what he was sure was a whisper, Harry was caught completely off guard when he felt a hand squeeze his thigh before moving up towards his groin. He glanced down and again saw nothing, including no indentation which meant this was not an invisible person, but a charm of some sort. Well, kudos to whomever it was that was so practiced at their charms.

Harry was torn. Before reaching what he was certain was the charms aim, the invisible-not-really-there hand reversed directions and ran back down his thigh, away from his burgeoning erection. He was relieved that he was not going to be brought off in class by someone without his consent. But he wanted so badly to feel that hand, imaginary as it was, pressing against his crotch and grabbing his cock through his robes.

After minutes of this torture, and no real clue as to what Professor Flitwick had been lecturing on for the last quarter hour, class was released. There was no time for Harry to run to a bathroom to rid himself of his current predicament, so he was forced to hurry to Healing as he was. He was thankful for wizarding robes which allowed him to hide his rather large problem.

As he turned to take the stairs down to the Hospital Wing, Hermione stopped him.

"I left something in the Charms classroom," she said. "I'll catch up to you before Healing starts.

Harry nodded his head and gave his goodbyes to Ron, who was heading up to the Gryffindor Tower to hang out with Ginny. He walked slowly, doing his level best not to allow his bulging arousal to show.

* * *

Draco was ambling towards the stairs that led to the dungeons when he was suddenly yanked by the arm into a tapestry-covered alcove. He heard a feminine voice call out _"lumos,"_ and after a moment passed and his eyes adjusted, he could see Hermione's face just inches from his.

"What the hell, Granger?" he asked, rubbing his arm where she had grabbed him.

"I saw what you did to Harry during Charms, Malfoy," Hermione said, voice quiet yet intense.

Draco was surprised, to say the least. He would have expected ranting and raving, a more appropriate Gryffindor response. He was momentarily shocked by the calm, if a bit suspicious, appearance of the girl.

"If you knew what I was doing, then why didn't you do or say anything about it?" he asked.

Hermione appeared thoughtful for a moment and Draco noticed that her forehead dimpled in a very similar manor to Potter's on the rare occasions that he _did_ actually think.

"I suppose," she slowly spoke, "that it's because I saw the looks you were giving him yesterday during Defense, and I saw his reaction. And then today, during class he was so damn flustered and honestly, it was hilarious. He needs to lighten up and learn that everyone goes through this in their life. Most just do it around twelve or thirteen years old, not eighteen."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Draco asked, with none of the former sneer. His tone was honestly curious. He couldn't imagine why the girl would share this kind of information about her best friend with a person who had made it his personal mission to be an annoyance to them both for their entire school career.

"Don't kid yourself and think I haven't noticed the way you looked at him, ogling his arse when his robes were off during Defense."

Draco's jaw dropped. "How—" he began, before catching himself and saying haughtily, "I don't know what you're talking about, Granger. A Malfoy does not ogle, they simply appreciate the finer things in life."

Hermione apparently couldn't help herself, she started giggling. Draco had never been giggled at. He'd been guffawed at, scoffed at, even simpered at; but certainly no one had ever reacted to something he said in such a manner. It was quite disconcerting.

"So, you're saying that Harry's arse is not unlike a fine mable statue?" she asked.

With a slight quirk to his lips that was _definitely _not almost a smile, Draco answered, "It's certainly a piece of art. And Malfoys only appreciate the best." Hermione smiled at him, and Draco remembered what she had said before they got on the subject of Harry's, scratch that, _Potter's _arse. "Again, why are you telling me this?"

"Because, Draco Malfoy," she said, and the blonde's jaw dropped yet again, "You clearly have developed an interest in him. He's desperately in need of someone to care about and who cares about him. And he's vouched for your character multiple times over the last few months, so I trust that you're probably an alright person. You two already have the passion; it would just be aimed in a new direction now."

And with that, she released him and slipped from the alcove, leaving Draco in darkness to think about what she'd just said.

* * *

Hermione met up with Harry right outside of the double door entrance to the Hospital Wing. The doors had just opened to allow entry to the students, so the two entered the spacious room and joined the small group of students also taking this course. Ginny was already there, having chosen to take this class in the hopes of becoming a Mind Healer. Harry thought the career was a noble one and who better than Ginny, who knew exactly what it was like to lose control of oneself, to pursue it as her life's work.

Harry heard a call of "enter" come from Madame Pomfrey's office and, with the dozen or so other students in the class, shuffled through the door into a surprisingly large space with a complete potions work-bench. It seemed fairly obvious that the school nurse would have a need to brew simple potions like burn heal, scaradicate salve, and the like.

"Attention class," Madame Pomfrey began. "Welcome to the first ever Healing course that Hogwarts has offered. Let's get a few things out of the way. First, when in my class, you may call me Poppy. It will save quite a bit of time, considering that we have so much to cover and so little time to do so. I intend to prepare you all to be ready for an apprenticeship, whether that is your intended goal or not, so we will need to cover quite a bit of material."

Harry started to feel a childlike excitement, the promise of new knowledge. Knowledge that he actually cared about and was invested in learning. He hadn't felt this excited since first coming to Hogwarts. 'I wonder if this is how Hermione feels all of the time in class,' Harry thought with a snort, gaining the attention of the girl he'd been thinking of, causing him to laugh a second time. He did his best to remain silent of course.

"Second," Poppy continued, "I am not a licensed Healer. I am a nurse, and I know most everything you will need to know prior to entering a medical apprenticeship. However, there will be times when we will need to leave the school grounds to hold a lesson at St. Mungos. These trips will be extra-curricular and you may therefore decide for yourself whether you choose to attend. These trips will be on Sundays when they do happen."

Harry could hardly contain his excitement at what was to come. He hoped today wouldn't be all just rules. He was itching to start.

Poppy didn't disappoint, setting them the task of learning an acne-removal spell. It was a simple enough beginning, easy enough that it took little power, but forcing the wizard or witch to learn how to focus their magic differently. Healing magic was different than everyday spells, curses, and hexes and, because of this difference, those practicing the Healing Arts had to acquaint themselves with the new sensations.

Having spent a quarter-hour practicing the wand movement—the wand began at the center of the face, and moving in an anti-clockwise circle, grew in size until the entire face had been encompassed, while pulling back about six centimetres from the patient—Pomfrey instructed them to cast a basic dragon-pox curse on themselves. These blemishes would be used for practice.

"Oh, bugger it all!" Harry snarled after he cast the curse on his own face. The curse should not have caused any pain but Harry, but in his excitement, had put too much force behind the spell and literally covered his face in small, red bumps. Hermione glanced at him, and after a brief moment of concern, burst into laughter.

Harry tried his best to glare, but failed miserably when the facial movement caused sharp pain. "Once you're finished having such a good time at my expense, would you mind helping me?" he asked irritably, pouting despite the pain.

"I'm sorry Harry," Hermione spoke through her giggles, "but your face is a sight right now." She moved closer to him and placed her wand at his nose, almost touching him. She began to move her wand his right and his eyes tried to follow. _"Excipio pustula," _she said, and Harry felt the pain melt away and smiled, until he saw the look of consternation appear on his friend's face.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Well," she stated, trailing off without saying anything else.

"Well, what?" Harry asked impatiently, a sense of dread that something had gone terribly wrong.

Before saying anything else, Hermione lifted her wand and transfigured a quill into a hand-mirror, which she handed to Harry. She waited until he looked at his reflection to speak.

"I think that, because of the strength with which you cast that curse, you blistered the skin," she said gently. "You probably caused real irritation, and that's why you look like a lobster."

At the last bit, Harry saw the corners of her lips quirk before she hid her smile.

"That's right," he said. "Laugh it up. I'm going to go talk to Pomfrey." And with the sound of Hermione's giggles following him, he stalked off to find the nurse, pretending that he didn't see Ginny standing next to Luna Lovegood, both of them clearly laughing at him.

The news wasn't all bad. Poppy told him that there was no permanent scarring and that his face would be fine. The redness would take two, maybe three hours to fade. 'Great,' Harry thought bitterly, 'I get to endure this through dinner.'

* * *

Draco left the noise of the Great Hall behind, still recovering from the most hilarious near-death experience of his life.

He'd been seated at the Slytherin table eating his meal, in the middle of taking an overly large bite, when Potter attempted to enter through the double doors, head down as if attempting to go unnoticed. Draco's immediate response was to snort derisively, and he almost choked on his half-chewed steak, barely avoiding inhaling it in his mirth. Blaise had slapped his back, trying to help him clear his airway. Finally, he was able to breathe again and he, Blaise, and Pansy had an entertaining dinner trying to guess how Potter had gone red.

As he walked to the East Tower dorms, he couldn't help but chuckle again at the memory of Potter's sunburnt face, wondering how something so unfortunate had happened and why the problem seemed unfixable with a spell. The 'Saviour' must have bungled something up royally.

Settling into a seat by the fire, Draco decided to read his Charms text to pass the time until the others came back from dinner. He didn't have to wait long, of course. About ten minutes later, he heard the sound of the door opening and the heavy stomping of feet up the stairs.

To Draco's delight, the familiar trio of Gryffindors came into the room, red-faced Potter bringing up the rear and looking only slightly less sun-burned. Draco hid his laughter behind his book and did his best not to be noticed. Potter saw him though, looking at Draco and instantly capturing his attention.

It was like the Welcoming Feast all over again. The intensity of Potter's stare was overwhelming, stealing from Draco the ability to look away. It was electric, causing his stomach to tighten into a knot and sparks to run up and down his spine. He felt almost compelled to go to Potter's side in this moment and… and…

Potter looked away; seemingly tearing his gaze from Draco's to break the brief staring contest. The blonde was left feeling bereft sitting in his chair and wondering what the hell had just happened. Why did Potter have this effect on him? Why was he so captivating? It was all too frustrating, and Draco really wanted to not think about it anymore. Deciding the best way was to go to the library and study, he grabbed his bag and got up to leave.

"We should go to the library," he said to Blaise and Pansy who had entered the dorm at some point while he was obsessing over the stupid Saviour. They both shrugged and stood to join him.

"At least the library is closer now than it was from the dungeons," said Pansy, truly a lazy witch. Draco was sure that without magic, she'd be unable to do anything and would have died before the age of majority.

* * *

"Let's go to the library," Hermione said. Ron looked dismayed at the proposition but certainly wasn't going to object and risk angering the girl he'd been pining after for years. Harry noticed and smirked at his best mate, earning a blush from the red-head.

"Sure thing, 'Mione," Harry said, running up to his room to get his bag. He returned downstairs and followed Hermione and Ron out of the dormitory. Hermione made a quick left and pulled aside a tapestry of some goblin rebellion from the past, revealing a passageway that was brightening as torches automatically flared into life to light the way.

Ron rolled his eyes before speaking. "Why am I not surprised that you've already found the fastest route to the Library?" he asked rhetorically. As such, he received no answer other than a two-fingered salute from Hermione, who turned and walked down the passage. Harry and Ron quickly followed, as the torches nearest them were already going out, apparently only following their bushy-haired friend.

After a few short minutes of walking in relative silence, they could see the back of what was likely another tapestry. Harry went through first and was immediately knocked to the ground by some unknown force.

"Malfoy!" he heard Ron yell. Of course it was Malfoy… "What the bloody hell did you do to Harry?"

"I didn't do anything, Weasley," the blonde responded, saying his whole surname, but making sure to pronounce it 'weasel-ly'. "Potter is just a klutz, walking right into me. AGAIN! We've got to stop meeting like this, Potter."

Harry had the grace to blush, which made his face—now only appearing slightly rosy—turn fully red again. He noticed the bright amusement in Malfoy's eyes as he chuckled silently and decided that the best option was to say nothing at all. He was rescued by Hermione.

"Are you three heading to the Library?" she asked. Receiving three nods and sensing no hidden malice or tension, she spoke again, "Would you like to study with us?"

Ron went ballistic as you'd expect, but Harry just ignored him, knowing that Hermione would beat sense into him in no time. He glanced up and caught Malfoy's eye again. He noticed the deep gray hue, the colour of charcoal. These were eyes that had seen a lot of terrible things, but they had been lighter when Malfoy was laughing. And since when did Harry notice how Malfoy's eyes changed with his moods?

After Ron had acquiesced to Hermione's incessant logical reasoning for giving these Slytherins a chance, Malfoy answered her question, never looking away from Harry. "We'd be delighted to join you, thank you." And with that, they walked in awkward silence the rest of the way to the Library.

Harry dragged his feet, not certain that he was comfortable with this arrangement, but unwilling to fight with Hermione over it. It wasn't that he bore any remaining ill will towards the Slytherins present. No, he just didn't know if he could manage to make it through even a simple study session without losing control of his libido which, even now beneath all the dread, was taking stock of the two attractive boys accompanying him.

Because he'd been trudging along, Harry did not get a choice of seats which was probably a stupid mistake to make, considering that the only empty chair at the table was between the two gorgeous Slytherins. He arrived at the table and let his bag sink to the ground by the empty chair. When he reached to pull the chair out from the table, Blaise jumped up quickly.

"Let me get that for you, Harry," the olive-skinned boy said, voice tinged with an off-putting saccharine sweetness. He pulled the chair out and Harry looked at him suspiciously before deciding yet again not to say anything awkward.

He sat gingerly as if expecting to be hexed by the chair just for sitting. At least, that was how it looked to Hermione and Malfoy alike; not that Harry would know, so wrapped up in his own worries that he didn't see Malfoy's smirk or Hermione's eyes sparkling with humor.

Little did he know how right he was to be worried.

* * *

Draco saw the apprehension on Potter's face, and knew he would enjoy teasing him a little more. It would be all the more fun being in such close proximity to his two best friends. He wondered just how discreet Potter could be, and whether he would say anything about what was about to be happening to him, or if his pride would prevent him from doing so. But first, he needed to deal with Blaise.

The git was trying to move in on _his_ territory. Not that Potter was his, per se, but Draco was working towards something with the boy, and Blaise was not going to get in his way. On top of his own personal motivations, he knew that the half-italian boy had nothing real he wanted to offer Potter. He was just horny and wanted to be able to say he'd shagged The Saviour.

"Blaise," he said sharply before the other boy could sit back down. "Can I speak to you for a moment?" It was phrased as a question, but both knew that it was nothing of the kind. Draco stood and walked down an aisle of books leading to the back of the Library where there was less light.

Upon reaching the darkest corner available, Draco spun around quickly and pressed his wand into Blaise's chest.

"Listen, Zabini," he snarled, his voice low and threatening, almost a growl. Blaise immediately looked concerned, knowing that when Draco called him by his surname, he was not happy and not to be trifled with. He pinned him with a glare and held his gaze for a long moment before speaking again. "Potter is mine. You will desist with your flirting and move on to some other tramp."

Draco was unable to hide his shock when, instead of cowering and agreeing immediately, Blaise smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I always knew you were hard for Potter," he said. Draco's mouth dropped open. "You've been obsessed with him since 1st Year, always trying to get a reaction out of him. Always claiming you 'hated' him. I knew better, though. I knew there was more."

Draco remained silent, though he belatedly closed his mouth. He couldn't deny the accusation. He _had_ been obsessed with Potter. Hell, even before his offer of friendship had been turned down. They'd met in the robe shop and Draco had thought that the small boy's large, bright green eyes were the most incredible thing he'd ever seen. He didn't know the boy, but he knew he was special.

He'd immediately been taken with the boy, doing his best to impress. Looking back though, Draco could see what a pompous little brat he'd been and could understand why things had started so poorly between the two of them. But now he had a second chance. Hermione was right; he wanted more than a casual fling with the bespectacled git. So much more.

He yanked his wandering attention back to the present as Blaise continued speaking. "So yes, I'll lay off him. But you have one week to make a move before I do. He's a hot piece of ass and I'll have him if I get the chance." And with that, he walked back to the table, Draco following close behind, gladly accepting his friend's challenge.

* * *

Harry was taking out his quill and ink when Ginny showed up at the table, asking to join. He quickly said yes, happy to have another ally in this sure-to-be awkward study group. Ginny sat in what had been Blaise's seat and pulled her own notes out, quickly engaging Pansy in a conversation about a new shield they were learning in Defense. Hermione joined the discussion and the three girls quickly became engrossed in the subject, debating why the wand movement had to be absolutely precise to accomplish this particular shield and how that made it so effective.

Harry was amazed at how comfortable with each other they already seemed. He shared a look with Ron who seemed similarly stunned, if the gaping fish look was anything to go by. He started taking notes, listening intently to the discussion, hoping to glean some useful information for his essay. Harry had always been a natural at performing defensive magic, accomplishing difficult and powerful spells quickly and easily. However, if you asked him _why_ what he did was so effective, he'd always simply shrugged and said, 'Just does.'

This year though, he needed to put all of his effort into performing well in classes. The Healer Apprenticeship program at St. Mungo's only accepted five hopefuls in each classification (General Care, Mind Healer, Spell Damage, and Healer's Aide), and top N.E.W.T marks were required for admission. Nothing below an 'Exceeds Expectations' was even considered, and to have a real chance, a few 'Outstanding's wouldn't hurt. Hermione was hoping to become a Mind Healer and Harry wanted to work in Spell Damage, so at least they weren't competing against each other.

Malfoy and Zabini returned to the table then, the blonde lowering himself gracefully into his chair, while the other boy grabbed a chair from a nearby table and settle at the end, between Pansy and Ginny. Harry did his best to keep his focus solely on his note-taking while the girls kept up their discussion, ignoring the reemergence of the absent Slytherins. He managed to go for a full two minutes without looking at the blonde next to him, but when he finally caved in to the desire to look, he found that he was being watched. Malfoy was just staring at him, appearing to drink him in; Harry resisted the urge to cringe, uncomfortable under the suggestive gaze and satisfied smirk.

Harry looked away, unable to fight the urge to shudder under the weight of those storm-grey eyes for any longer. But luck was not on his side, and he was not allowed to peacefully go back to taking notes. Nope. Malfoy just _had_ to open his mouth.

"So, Potter," he said, barely concealed amusement evident in his voice. Harry kept his head down but couldn't help but notice that, absent of malicious intent, Malfoy's voice was sexy. "How on Earth did you manage to turn yourself into a lobster, and why didn't you fix it? You _are_ a Wizard, for Merlin's sake."

Harry blushed profusely, mimicking his earlier colouring and Hermione interrupted her conversation when she burst out laughing and what the blonde had said.

"Harry got a little overexcited during our Healing Lesson today," she said cheerfully, giggling like a much younger witch normally would. Harry groaned when Hermione and Ginny proceeded to regale everyone at the table with the story of Harry's overdone Dragon Pox and the resulting lobster burn, wondering why his best friend had to choose something so embarrassing to bond with the Slytherins over. He ignored the muffled laughter, and the sharp reprimand from Madame Pince to "hush up and stop acting like a gaggle of giggling Gryffindors," that only served to instigate a new round of laughter.

After a while, everyone settled down and it was a much calmer and surprisingly relaxed atmosphere in which they studied. Even Ron was dutifully reading his Charms text and jotting down notes, occasionally leaning over and asking Hermione to clarify something, a task that apparently required a lot of 'incidental' physical contact. Harry had finally begun to relax when he felt a hand brush his knee.

He tensed and turned his head ever-so-slightly towards the blonde next to him. Malfoy's face betrayed nothing, appearing as if he was engrossed in his Potions book. But Harry heard him mutter something very softly and when he heard his parchment rustle, he looked down and found words appearing in an elegant green script at the bottom of his notes.

_[I noticed you squirming in Charms earlier.]_

Harry tensed, unsure why this was happening and what Malfoy wanted.

_[I also know __**why**__ you were squirming.]_

_It was __**YOU**__?!_

_[Of course it was. It was quite entertaining teasing you like that, getting that reaction from you.]_

Harry noticed, belatedly, that Malfoy's left hand was not on the table when he felt a hand grasp his knee, thumb working in a circle. He bit his lip gently and wrote back with a shaky hand.

_Why are you doing this?_

_[Because. It's fun teasing you this way. Knowing how hot and bothered you get, and just how easy it is to do so.]_

He heard another muttered charm and the hand started moving up his leg, and to Harry's dismay, everywhere his fingers touched, an imprint was left. So Harry could still feel the hand on his knee, relaxing him and causing him to let his legs fall open. Malfoy's hand drifted to the inside of his thigh and he dragged his nails lightly toward his crotch. Finally, his thumb bumped into Harry's hardening erection and he paused, seemingly asking for permission to continue while the charm kept his leg ablaze with a variety of touches.

Harry didn't know whether to be mortified or to just give in to what he wanted. Here was someone offering intimate contact in a way he'd never experienced and he wasn't sure why the fact that it was Draco Malfoy wasn't bothering him in the slightest. His thigh was coursing with pleasure, bombarded with constant erotic stimulation from the touch memory charm. He knew he liked it, and his hormones made the decision for him.

He arched into the touch and the blonde's hand grasped his length, squeezing almost painfully, but Harry loved it. He clenched his lip more tightly between his teeth and forced himself to remain silent, allowing only and small gasp at the pleasure of the contact.

Slowly, achingly so, Draco's hand started moving along his erection. 'Apparently he's Draco now,' Harry thought to himself, the only non-pleasure related thought to enter his brain at the moment. He was rutting into that hand, moving as little as possible but unable to remain perfectly still. He wanted more, but knew that was impossible. It didn't matter anyway; he was close already.

He looked up and noticed that Hermione, Pansy, and Ginny were all watching him. Pansy and Hermione both looked mildly concerned and confused. Ginny however, had seen what Harry looked like when in the clutches of his libido. Her eyes shot open as she realized what must be happening right next to her.

Though he knew he was being watched, he couldn't find the energy or brain function to care. Draco's hand was applying more pressure, continuing its steady rhythm. Harry was so close he was shaking, pulling in ragged breath after ragged breath. He tried desperately not to make a sound and almost succeeded, allowing only the slightest hint of squeaks to escape.

He came with such force as to almost be on the edge of painful, but it was the most incredibly mind-numbing orgasm he'd ever had. No thoughts interrupted the steady flow of 'holy shit holy shit holy shit' racing through his brain as he coasted through his post-orgasmic bliss.

As he came down from the extreme high, he first felt a warm slickness soaking into his jeans which he was wearing in place of robes. Barely after noticing it, he felt the wetness disappear, and Draco's hand removed from his crotch. He took a second to slow his breathing before risking looking up. He knew at least three people had seen him, and two of those probably knew what had just happened.

He looked at Draco and could see a smug satisfaction hidden behind the carefully constructed mask of boredom of one reading a dry textbook. He noticed that the blonde was slightly flushed though and wondered briefly, banishing the thought immediately after having it, if Draco was equally aroused.

Forcing himself to think of anything else, he looked and saw that Ron and Blaise seemed to have missed the brief sexual act that had occurred under their very noses. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that he wasn't going to have to explain to Ron what was going on.

Hermione looked shocked at his behavior and unsure what to do about it. Pansy looked suspicious, and Ginny looked incredulous, having been sitting very close to him twice now while he'd come in his pants. Harry decided the smartest course of action would be to retreat, so he quickly shoved his supplies back into his bag, likely breaking a quill in the process, and fled the Library.

Ron finally looked up. "What was that about?" he asked.

Hermione simply grunted and shook her head and when no one else offered a better explanation, he went back to his notes.

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End Chapter 3  
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_A/N: I hate that this took so long to write. But that's what happens when you miss a few days of work due to illness and have to play catch up. Oh well, here it is. _

_And hey! Actual plot starts in the next chapter. Isn't that exciting? And more fun for Harry and Draco! _

_And please, please, __**please review! **__I'd love to know what you think, good, bad, or indifferent. And who knows, maybe more reviews means faster writing… hehe_


	4. It's a Party!

**Disclaimer:**Yep. I'm totally J.K, masquerading as a 25 y/o man on a fanfic website…

**Warnings:**Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

**Chapter 4: It's a Party!**

Draco put the finishing touches on his notes from Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was sitting at his usual table in the 8th Year common room, using the break to organize his thoughts from that morning's class; he always liked to stay on top of his studies, and this year he planned to beat out Granger for top marks.

He looked at the clock hanging on the wall and was pleased to see that forty minutes still remained before lunch. 'Good,' he thought. 'That leaves me time to talk to Granger.'

Both the bushy-haired girl and Potter looked up when he approached their seating area. Draco felt a smug satisfaction when he saw the boy's face flush scarlet. Neither of them had mentioned the incident in the library the day before, but every time the two of them came in close proximity of each other, Potter blushed and Draco felt smug. He'd noticed the boy's constant shifting in his seat when he was around Draco, surely attempting to alleviate his 'hard' to control problem. In fact, Draco noticed with a smirk, he was squirming right now, his book carefully shielding his crotch from view.

Draco had to bring his thoughts back to the task at hand. "Granger," he said congenially. She smiled at him, gesturing to the empty armchair situated around their low table. He sat in it with thoughtless grace, appearing as comfortable as if he had spent his whole life sitting down for chats with the girl.

"I had an idea, a way to get the year started," he said, once he was properly comfortable.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, glancing at Potter to see if he was okay with Draco being here. Potter was currently pretending to be invisible.

"How about we host a party for the 7th and 8th years?" he asked and watched her eyes light up at the thought. "Only students who are of age of course."

"Draco, I think it's a wonderful idea!" she exclaimed. Draco's eyes widened and after a millisecond, so did hers, shocked at her boldness in using his first name. She looked at Potter again who, this time, was not pretending he wasn't there. His mouth was hanging down into his lap and he turned to look at the blonde with apprehension.

Draco decided not to make a big deal out of it. After all, if he were going to chase after Potter somehow, they would all eventually need to be on a first name basis anyway.

"Don't worry about it," he said genially. "Perhaps it would be better, in the interest of getting over past feuds, to dispense with all the surname nonsense and call each other by our given names. May I call you Hermione?"

Her entire demeanor changed in an instant, going from a timid, apologetic stance back to her bubbly self. A large smile split her face, showing off perfect, straight white teeth.

"Of course you may!" she gushed, obviously pleased with this new turn of events. Hermione had always been a proponent of House unity, and if Gryffindors and Slytherins could get along, then certainly the rest of the school could.

Draco smiled back, unintentionally becoming caught up in her enthusiasm. He turned to the quiet boy seated next to him and choked back a snort; Potter's mouth was _still _hanging open. When he felt Draco's eyes on him, he quickly shut it and looked back warily. Draco continued smiling.

"How about you?" he asked. "Can you call my by anything other than my last name or Ferret Face?"

Harry smirked at that but still hesitated. Draco decided to push, extending his hand in the same gesture that had sent them down the path to enmity. He prayed to Merlin for a better result this time.

"Draco," he said, gazing expectantly at the brunette, hand still extended.

Finally, the boy reached out and clasped his hand. "Harry," he said in a low voice, a slight blush creeping up his neck. Draco smiled brightly, finally getting what he'd agonized over for seven years – a second chance.

He was amazed by his own reaction. He felt light and free, happy and hopeful. He could feel the future opening up to him, and it was a heady sensation. Draco sat back in the chair, lost in thought for a while. He didn't notice the looks he received from both Hermione and Harry. Nor did he notice the look they shared between them. They may not truly _know _exactly how huge a moment this was for him, but they certainly knew that it was major. As such, they left him to his thoughts until he reconciled himself with his shift in thought.

He was really free. Free to do whatever he wanted in life. Oh yes, the Ministry had granted him a pardon from his crimes and all that rot, but it didn't mean much from an institution people had lost faith in. He'd been underage when things happened in his 6th year, and he and his family had ultimately made the right choice in the final moments.

Until this moment, he never truly felt like he'd be able to live the full life he'd always dreamt of. Because Harry Potter had agreed to forgive him. Or, at least work towards forgiving him, opening up all sorts of possibilities for the two of them.

Smiling, Draco restarted his discussion with Hermione about the party, excited for the chance to let loose with others and for once not have the worries of war, shame, and exile hanging about.

* * *

Harry and Ron were discussing the Cannons' chances of landing the newest international sensation at the Seeker position, Igor Kovalevskii. He was on the Russian National Team and had won the most recent World Cup, capturing the snitch three hours into the game while the score was still tied 0-0. Ron, ever the optimist, thought that his team had a great chance at the prospect. Harry knew better, but he let his best mate keep dreaming.

"Draco," Harry heard from ahead of them where the blonde and Hermione were still talking about the party. Ron's head snapped forward, an expression of horror upon his face from hearing her dare to utter such a vile name. "Would you care to join us for lunch? We might be able to finish planning for the party, and then we can set preparations in motion."

Ron stopped walking suddenly and Harry tripped over his foot, crashing to the floor in spectacular fashion. They rest of the group in front of them stopped walking and turned around to see Harry lying on the floor and Ron standing there, red-faced and trying his best to form a sentence without any luck.

"Did—did you…did you just…?" he spluttered, failing to communicate his absolute confusion, though his facial expression and stiff posture said enough.

"Yes, _Ronald, _I 'just'," Hermione spat venomously, surprising everyone with her cold tone. "And if you have a problem with it, you can take your 1st year attitude, go back to Gryffindor tower, and sulk like a baby. Now grow up and get over your childish and unwarranted bigotry, dammit!"

Harry was shocked, but his surprise was nothing like that of the Slytherins who had joined Draco in their group. Never in all his days at Hogwarts had Harry seen all three of these Slytherins show this much emotion. He couldn't help it; he giggled.

Six heads turned to look at him (Ginny had arrived at the beginning of Hermione's shouting), confusion etched upon their faces.

"I'm sorry," he wheezed, "It's just, just—" he caught sight of the three Slytherins now wearing identical looks of incredulity over Harry's laughter and burst into another round of giggles.

"Seriously, Harry," Hermione said with a frown. "This is no laughing matter."

Harry reigned in his mirth. "I know, I know. I wasn't laughing at you. Did you see their faces?" He pointed at the Slytherin trio, chuckling again and their collective affronted look. "I've never seen a group of Slytherins rendered so utterly speechless before. Good on you, Hermione"

Hermione's mouth hitched into a small smile that she tried her best to smother, Ron seemed to deflate and Harry decided to end this argument here and now. He clasped both Ron and Hermione's shoulders and herded them into the Great Hall, smirking when they bumped shoulders more than was strictly necessary when walking next to someone.

"You lot coming?" he asked, turning his head back to wear the others were still standing. Draco, after shaking his head to free himself of the disbelief that Hermione Granger had stood up for him, raised his chin haughtily in a manner reminiscent of times passed, and quickly caught up to Harry. Blaise, Pansy, and Ginny rejoined the group a moment later, and then the seven students walked into the Hall and over to the Gryffindor table as one.

Harry grinned as heads turned. The rumor mill was going to be working overtime today.

* * *

Draco spoke momentarily with Professor Slughorn before turning his usual workbench in the Potions classroom. He'd chosen this seat during his first year very carefully. It was in the least drafty spot in the room, thus ensuring a steady flame and constant temperature. It was away from the paths to the main door and the supply closet, therefore meaning there was less chance of his cauldron being upset. It was, to say it simply, his spot.

So when Harry immediately made a beeline for said workbench, Draco followed with a frown. Pansy decided to pair up with Hermione, Blaise was sitting with Ginny (who had somehow convinced both Lupin and McGonagall to place her in the 8th year sections of her classes), and Ron had dropped Potions the minute he was able, so it seemed fairly obvious with the newly forming group dynamic that Harry pair with Draco. But he could not take his seat!

"Budge up, Harry," he said, setting his bag down on the table in front of where the Gryffindor was seated. He saw Harry's amused smirk at his predictability but chose not to comment on it. Their burgeoning friendship was tenuous at best still, and he didn't want to risk anything going amiss today. They were making the Lip-loosening draught and he wanted a perfect result. He had plans in the making.

"As you all know," Slughorn was saying, "Veritaserum is the most powerful truth potion there is. It forces those who ingest it to answer any direct question honestly. However, it does not force them to speak truths that are not asked for." Harry was scratching away his parchment, writing down what the professor said, verbatim. Draco, though, had memorized this potion and was ready to make it.

"There is another, less powerful serum called the Lingua Probitas potion, or the Lip-loosening Draught. This potion, unlike Veritaserum, does not force the truth from the the drinker. Instead, it makes the truth seem like the most reasonable thing to say and encourages one to be as open as possible. Also unlike Veritaserum, Lingua Probitas generally goes unnoticed unless one knows one has taken it."

"For instance, I am aware that I have taken a very small dose and that it is due to the potion that I find myself wanting to tell you how dreadfully difficult this potion is. It requires much prep work, constant stirring, and carefully timed addition of each of the 23 ingredients at precise 46 second intervals." Slughorn chuckled, "Had I not taken the potion, I would have simply said to work quickly in pairs and you can finish before class ends. Oh well, they say honesty is the best quality. Begin working."

The class looked daunted by the professor's speech (and clearly unimpressed by his poor attempt at humour), but immediately jumped into action, setting up their cauldrons with a steeping chamomile broth, the base of the potion that needed to simmer for at least an hour and strained before any of the rest of the ingredients were added. Draco charged Harry with this task, not trusting that he would be careful to gather only the best of the ingredients.

He let Harry handle the crushing and pulping of the more hardy ingredients while preparing the more delicate ones himself. He'd seen Harry's work in the past and had no intentions of using shoddily sliced ingredients in his potion. His plan and his grade depended on perfection.

Once the hour was up, Draco organized everything in the order that they were to be added to the mixture. It was time to begin.

"Okay, you're going to stir," he said. Harry nodded and picked up the stirring rod. "Remember, it's three and a quarter clockwise stirs and one full anti-clockwise stir at half the speed."

"I _do _read, you know," Harry responded, attempting to pin Draco with a mock glare that fail entirely due to his lips forcibly pulling themselves into a smile. Briefly, their gazes locked and both of them felt a thrill of excitement run through them. Draco hesitated a moment before reaching out and placing his hand on top of the hand Harry was holding the stirrer with.

"Perhaps I ought to show you," Draco said breathily, cheeks tinged pink and he kept his eyes trained on their hands, which was hard enough but at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to look Harry in the eyes.

Harry gave a "hmm" in affirmative and allowed his hand to be guided in the proper motion through the simmering liquid. Both of them ignored the furious whispering and muffled giggles coming from Pansy and Hermione behind them.

Precisely eighteen minutes later, the potion had finally turned a dark brown and was set to boil until it lightened to a pale yellow that was very nearly clear. Once it had, Draco doused the fire and collected a sample to be turned in. He asked Harry to turn in their finished potion and, while he was gone, filled an extra vile and pocketed it for later use.

* * *

The next evening, Harry was two very strong drinks in, sprawled out on a couch in the middle of the room with his half-empty third drink balanced precariously on his thigh, only one finger separating him from a wet lap. He looked around and admired the decorations that had gone up throughout the day.

Led by Draco and Hermione, a group of 7th and 8th year students that included Pansy, Blaise, and Ginny had spent hours preparing for the party. They'd received permission from Headmistress McGonagall and, with the help of the House Elves, enlarged the East Tower common room until it was nearly twice its original size.

Streamers hung from the ceiling, all of the House colours mixing together in a bright display of unity. The House Elves provided copious amounts of finger foods, and the Slytherins procured a rather hefty supply of firewhiskey. Someone, a Gryffindor Harry assumed, managed to acquire the fizzy Muggle drink, Coke.

Harry sat up suddenly and, after a few seconds to regain his equilibrium, downed the rest of his drink. He heard someone yell out the suggestion of a game of Truth or Dare and decided he needed to be more sloshed if he was going to play. He tried to stand and decided it wasn't the best decision, sinking back down into the cushion.

"Would you like me to get you another drink?" Draco offered, and Harry, to pissed to even put any thought into his response, readily agreed. Ron looked flabbergasted that Harry would allow the Slytherin to make him a drink, but he just waved the red-head off. He was getting a drink without having to get up and that was good enough for him.

Once everyone, including Harry, was situated with fresh drinks, the game began.

"First," Hermione said, "Remember our rule for tonight's party: No bringing up the War." Everyone nodded and Pansy started things off, daring Neville to hop on one foot while singing the school song. It was uproariously funny and the game continued from there, remaining fairly innocent for the first hour or so, until everyone had finished their first drink of the game and started on their second. Harry had accidentally admitted to being gay, something he attributed to the alcohol and the sense of safety he felt with his friends. Luckily, everyone took it well.

When Harry finished watching Ginny and Blaise making out for nearly a minute, he knew that things were about to get interesting. Pansy asked Harry if he was into anyone to which he answered yes, smirking wickedly. When pressed for details, he gave nothing away, but Pansy had a feeling she knew who his eyes were being drawn to. Draco was seated next to her and she had felt like she was being stared at the entire night, so often had Harry's attention wandered this way.

On his fifth drink, Harry was feeling mischievous so he turned to Hermione and leered at her before saying, "I dare you to sit on Ron's lap for the rest of the game."

The whole group roared with laughter, seeing Hermione blush and hide her face in her hands while Ron turned into a tomato. He really was the most Gryffindor with his emotions. Hell, he made Harry look like a Slytherin in comparison. Hermione complied, and once she had settled onto Ron's lap—in as dignified a manner as possible, of course—she pinned Harry down with a truly evil grin.

"Draco," she said slowly without taking her eyes from Harry's, her voice falsely sweet, putting Harry on edge. "I dare you to climb into Harry's lap and make out with him."

Draco sucked in a surprised gasp, but otherwise said nothing. Harry just stared at his friend who was acting far too much like a Slytherin right now. She hadn't been so quick or ruthless in delivering a returning blow, figuratively speaking, since the time she'd slapped then-Malfoy hard enough to leave a mark that lasted for days, magic attempts to vanish it be damned.

Suddenly, Harry felt the cushion he was sitting on dip and snapped his head back to see Draco looming over him while he climbed onto the couch, straddling Harry's legs. Harry looked up into his eyes which were molten silver right now, burning with intense, emotions and completely focused despite the alcohol he had been drinking. The blonde's hair hung down in front of his face, casting his features in shadow. He looked dark and dangerous and bloody gorgeous, and Harry was frozen in his spot on the couch.

"Scared, Potter?" Draco asked with a husky voice. Harry's only response was to gulp and shake his head ever-so slightly.

Draco leaned down towards Harry, pausing for a moment and then whispering in Harry's ear, "I've wanted to do this for a very long time." And then he cupped Harry's face in his hands and touched their lips together, kissing him gently.

All of Harry's tension and nerves melted away to be replaced with a small, but growing, sense of warmth that grew steadily until it engulfed his whole body. It started feeling a little too warm, urging him to have more, and he reached up and pulled Draco's head down, forcefully deepening the kiss. He opened his mouth to Draco's prodding tongue and felt the heat rushing to pool in his groin, his cock swiftly swelling to full size and bulging against the tightness of his jeans.

Feeling desperate for more contact, Harry's hands shifted to Draco's hips and, of their own accord, pulled the blonde's hips into his own. When he felt Draco's hardness against his own, he let out a groan and impulsively ground his hips up into Draco's, reveling in the feel of the other man's arousal.

Both were lost to the world and never noticed Hermione cast a privacy ward, filling it in until it was an opaque shield blocking them from view. Harry only noticed the primal need to keep doing this, the licking, sucking, biting, thrusting. He distantly noticed the whimpering noises Draco was making and they only spurred him on.

He grabbed Draco by the shoulders, flipped him onto his back on the couch and re-initiated the kiss, lying atop the blonde, thus creating an even greater friction. They started to get frantic with their motions, never breaking the kiss to breathe properly. Suddenly, with an almost tortured moan, Draco pulled away as his orgasm took control of his body, making him shake with waves of pleasure beneath Harry. That sight was all it took for Harry to find his own completion and, with a roar to make any Gryffindor proud, let his climax rip through him. He bit down on Draco's neck, still grinding into him as he rode out his orgasm.

When they were both quite sated, they fell asleep that way, with Harry still where he collapsed after he'd finished. They never knew that the privacy ward had only blocked sight, not sounds from their tryst. They were also unaware of being levitated back to Harry's bedroom by Hermione.

* * *

In his drunken, potion-affected slumber, Harry's peaceful nights since the end of the war came to an abrupt halt. He'd been dreaming about warmth and blonde things when he was suddenly dragged from that dream and dumped in another.

**. . .**

_His dream self was standing in a cold, dark room with an eerie blue fire roaring the grate. It served to provide a marginal amount of light, but instead of providing warmth, the magical fire seemed to be sucking all of the warmth out of the room, as well as any happiness. He looked around, aware of the fact that he was dreaming. He tried to memorize his surroundings, but the light hardly reached the high-backed chair sitting in front of the fire. _

_Harry had an idea who he would find sitting in that seat, a wizard he hadn't seen in his dreams in months. He wasn't particularly thrilled with this reminder of darker days, but he stepped forward anyway, moving around so that he could see who it was._

_Sure enough there sat Voldemort, face as snakey as ever. On her knees in front of him was Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry could see an angry red scar still healing on the side of her neck where her throat lay bare, as if offering her life to the Dark Lord should he wish it. Harry could tell from that scar that this was right after his 5th year, when Voldemort must have rescued his Death Eaters from Azkaban. She'd earned that scar from Sirius while they were dueling. After Sirius had fallen through the veil, when Harry had been screaming and seething in anger, he'd seen her neck bleeding profusely and wanted to open it further and watch it bleed until her life flowed out of her with the blood. It was then that he'd cast the Cruciatus curse._

_So this was in the past, which meant Harry wasn't having a vision and that Voldemort was not somehow still alive. As Harry watched, the dead evil madman continued to just stare at the offered neck while Bellatrix remained perfectly still, only the shallow rise and fall of her chest giving any indication that she was not dead. Finally, Voldemort broke the silence._

"_Bella," he cooed, almost affectionate. Harry shuddered at the image when Riddle reached forward and carefully caressed her cheek with his finger, careful to not slice her open with his talon-like fingernails. _

"_Yes, my lord?" she replied eagerly. Harry thought her attitude had always been beyond the simple madness of following the Dark Lord because she believed in him so much. It had always seemed like she felt something deeper, perhaps even a twisted sense of love, toward him. _

"_You have proven time and again that you are my most obedient and loyal servant," Voldemort spoke with a near-permanent hiss. "Yet I have always placed someone ahead of you in my ranks as my most trusted servant. Whether Lucius, Severus, or Greyback, you have always been relegated to second place."_

_She looked at him quizzically but Riddle hardly noticed as he was staring at something unseen by anyone else. Harry could tell what was bothering him though; he was acting in a similar manner to Harry when he had something of great importance on his mind that needed to be shared with someone, yet to do so would put him or that person at greater risk._

"_I have been wrong," Voldie spoke again, shocking Harry with his admission. "It was foolish of me to have placed my faith in such unworthy men. Lucius is a greedy and arrogant bastard who took his place as second in command only because of what it would have gained him when I succeeded. It was not out of loyalty to our purpose that he served. He shall be cast back to the ranks of common follower."_

"_Greyback was also a mistake. His bloodlust interested me, and his sway over the werewolf packs throughout Britain was a great advantage. But his thirst for destruction blinded him to the art of subtlety, and I could never trust him to carry out a mission that needed to be done in private. He couldn't keep himself from killing, messily. So he was caged, like the animal that he is."_

"_And then there is Severus. He has been a model Death Eater, showing the restraint and respect in my presence that I expect from each of my followers. He is strong and learned in a multitude of magicks, and has a position among the Light side that proves very advantageous. Yet, I find myself having doubts about his loyalty. I can't, of course, simply let him away from my side. He must be kept under careful watch, and his potions mastery is too great a resource to let go."_

"_So, my dear Bellatrix," Voldemort looked her directly in the eye. "I can see that you are worthy of my trust. Your mind is completely open and I can see how strong your desire to serve me remains."_

_Harry wanted to gag at the sweetness in Voldemort's voice. It sounded completely out of place coming from such an evil being, but he didn't doubt the Dark Lord's sincerity._

"_You will become my second in command. This development, however, must remain between the two of us only. To the rest of my followers, nothing will appear to have changed; you will still be in my Inner Circle. But it will be only you I trust with a new task, one which will require you help to complete. This task is of the utmost importance, and it cannot be completed alone"_

_Bellatrix's eyes burned with unbridled excitement and zealous passion. Being let in on a secret and knowing she was the only one trusted with the information, not to mention being trusted to help her lord with a task that was clearly of the highest priority. She nodded her head eagerly, conveying her willingness to be entrusted with the Dark Lord's plans._

"_Tell me, Bella, what knowledge do you possess about the art of Necromancy?"_

**. . .**

Harry woke with a startled gasp, covered in a clammy film of sweat. Voldemort had been mucking about with Necromancy before he died, and Harry wasn't sure what that meant. He did know, though, that it was likely to be terrible.

+-+-+-+-+  
End Chapter 4  
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_A/N: Thanks for reading, all of you. I'd love it if you decided to let me know what you think, especially now that there is a plot afoot that is sure to become rather convoluted! Reviewing is so easy, it's right there at the bottom! *points* Please let me know if there is anything you'd like to see happen. Maybe, if it fits, I could include it somewhere in the story (crediting you of course)._


	5. Hell of a Hangover

**Disclaimer:** Yep. I'm totally J.K, masquerading as a 25 y/o man on a fanfic website…

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

A/N: So, I'm sorry this chapter took so long to post. I had it basically finished last week on Wednesday, but then I got sick and I wasn't around my computer and blah blah blah, excuses. At least it's longer than average… (That's what she said)

There was a lot of "Voldie" hatred in the reviews for the last chapter; so I just want to remind you that, aside from the epilogue which I'm pretending never happened (and my own additions), I'm pretty much following cannon for this story and Voldemort IS dead. Also, apparently I had Ron leave to go visit Ginny in Gryffindor tower when she was actually in Healing with Harry and Hermione. Let's just pretend that it's Ron and not me who is a dunderhead and forgot Ginny's schedule. OK, on with the story.

**Chapter 5: Hell of a Hangover**

Nearly half a day later, Harry woke with an excruciating headache. He reached up to rub his scar before realizing the pain wasn't contained to just the familiar spot. His head felt like it was about to split in two, and he thought about just how much he'd had to drink the night before. He'd had at least five drinks, which started strong and had probably gotten stronger as the night wore on; he hadn't made the last few rounds himself. Draco had been nice and made those…

All thoughts stopped, and for a blissful moment, Harry felt none of the pain or nausea from his hangover while his brain worked to catch up. But once it did, all of the agony from his drinking returned, accompanied by the realization of what he'd done last night. The brunette had no recollection of climbing the sairs to his bedroom last night, a task which surely would have been impossible in his inebriated condition. In fact, he remembered falling asleep on the couch after he got off with Malfoy. He'd actually passed out on top of the blonde. Oh Merlin.

Reaching for his glasses, Harry felt his hand bump against something cold, smooth, and made of glass. Excellent, a hangover potion. After the many celebrations they had taken part in after the end of the war, during which Ron and Harry often drank more than was reasonable, Hermione had taken to leaving hangover cures by the boys' bedside tables.

In the beginning, she'd haughtily told them both to tough it out and that it was their fault they felt so miserable. But after dealing with Ron's loud and obnoxious whinging when hung over, Hermione had just started leaving the potion for them when they woke up, earning herself a favor from them each time. All in all, it was a convenient system for all of them.

Harry greedily guzzled down the hangover cure, sighing in relief when it began to work. The majority of his pain went away; all but the worst of the pain, bundled up right behind his scar. Suddenly, Harry remembered his terrible dream from last night.

"_Tell me, Bella, what knowledge do you possess about the art of Necromancy?"_

Harry shuddered in fear at the recollection, wondering if it had just been a bad dream, brought on by all of the drinking, or if it could be something more. Harry felt his head twinge again rather painfully and a feeling of dread settled into his stomach. He suddenly felt very sick to his stomach and jumped out of bed, racing for the trashcan by his desk. He barely managed to not sick up all over his stone floor.

Moments later, Harry vanished the mess with a casual wave of his hand and a vague desire to be rid of the smell. Of course, he hardly noticed his nonchalant performance of a wandless spell because, at that moment, he noticed the blonde head poking out from under his sheets.

'Holy shit,' he thought, 'Draco is _here_?' He shook his head, momentarily forgetting his dream. Vision. Whatever.

Yes, Harry had been hornier in the last few months than he'd ever been in his life. Yes, he'd found himself undeniably drawn to the blonde. And yes, he'd been brought off under the table in the library, in front of his friends, by said blonde. But only two people had known what was up then, and Harry didn't know exactly what he wanted, and whatever had happened last night had been too much, too fast, and far too public.

Harry was angry over the whole situation; between Hermione's devious ways and his own lack of self-control, he'd crossed a line—with Draco Malfoy of all people—that he didn't want to cross without the proper emotional investment. A few dates. Was that too much to ask? Combined with the dream he'd had last night, Harry's mood was rapidly darkening. It had been far too long that he'd been denied a simple and peaceful existence, and now that he had it, he was not pleased with the sudden interruptions of a stupid dream, and bloody Draco Malfoy.

He needed to talk to Hermione. He also needed to forget about his drunken escapades until he'd sorted out his dream and whatever threat it might pose. Both of these things would be better without Draco in his room right now. Still seated on the floor by his desk, Harry lifted his hand to summon his wand, only now noticing that he was performing magic without. 'Another thing to sort out,' he thought, giving it no further consideration for now.

He cast _aguamenti _at the sleeping Slytherin, waking him rather abruptly.

"What the fuck!" Draco sputtered through the dripping water, immediately awake and alert. He sprung up from the bed looking for danger, a holdover from being at war.

"I need you to leave," Harry said in clipped tones, unaware of just how rude he was being. He was trying too hard not to think of himself grinding into the other boy's lap to care.

Draco opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off before he could speak, not even looking him in the eye.

"Just go. I can't— I can't deal with this shit right now."

And Draco, looing incredibly embarrassed and offended, stalked from the room. Harry heard the sound of his door slamming, but didn't look up from his thoughts. He opened his trunk and searched for the Galleon from the DA. He knew Hermione still kept hers on her. He sent her a quick message to have her come to him; he didn't feel like leaving his room and running the risk of an altercation with Draco. One task at a time, please.

* * *

Draco was fuming. Last night had been excellent. He'd learned what he'd needed to know about Harry; the boy was completely innocent outside of the Library incident and now last night. But last night, the boy had admitted to being very interested in someone, and the way he'd responded when they were snogging and then taken charge of the encounter… Well, of course Draco was of the belief that he was desired.

And then, to be woken like was just minutes ago and summarily thrown out? It was absolute shit is what it was. He was embarrassed, thinking that Harry hadn't actually wanted him, yet had thrown himself on him. He was hurt, imagining that Harry had just been looking to get off and Draco was nothing more than a convenience last night.

But Malfoys didn't feel these emotions, so Draco was smothering them all with outrage, smoldering away inside of him. 'Well,' he thought. 'If the git doesn't want me, he won't get me. In any capacity.'

And with that final thought, Draco grabbed his shower kit and some fresh clothes and went to take a long shower to wash the stench of inferiority off of him. He saw Hermione—'no, it's back to Granger now'—outside Potter's door, but paid her no mind.

* * *

"Harry, I really don't think there's anything to worry about. Necromancy is a crock. No one alive has ever proven a necromantic spell, curse, or ritual to actually work." Hermione was holding his hand and wearing a patronizingly commiserate expression while she spoke. Harry had recounted the dream to his best 'girl-friend' (as he referred to her in his head); he had even offered to show her the memory in his head, but she had point-blank refused to use Legilimency on him.

"How can you just say that?" Harry asked her, astonished by her outright refusal to acquiesce that his dream may have some sort of meaning.

"Listen, Harry," Hermione said, more forceful now, closer to using her 'lecture mode' voice. "Voldemort's dead, and your connection with him was broken. You were properly drunk last night. I'd wager that you finished half a bottle yourself, and for a lightweight such as yourself, that's a lot of booze."

Harry smiled at the "lightweight" comment. He had to admit, he became drunk incredibly fast; he even felt a slight buzz from a bottle of Butterbeer, which was barely alcoholic. At least he wasn't like Ron, who took longer to actually get drunk, but couldn't handle his drunken state as well as Harry. Ron was a right mess when he was pissed.

"Your dream was likely just that—a dream. It's normal for people to have strange and intense dreams when under the effects of alcohol. Are you really surprised that someone like you, who has seen so much, would have more unusual dreams than the average person?"

Harry forced a half-smile, trying to appear somewhat placated. He couldn't help the niggling feeling that the dream was just the beginning of something terrible, though.

* * *

The next few weeks were not his best. Harry had tried to talk to Draco about what happened the night of the party. But he hadn't seen the blonde once on Saturday. And by the time he showed up Monday, Transfigurations had already begun and McGonagall did not tolerate speaking during her lectures.

At the end of class, Draco had practically run from the room all the way to the Charms corridor. Harry looked to the Slytherin's two best friends, but both Blaise and Pansy shrugged, seemingly unaware of what had transpired to cause this strange behavior.

Harry knew, though. In all his worry about that blasted dream, he'd kicked the blonde out of his bed and room with no explanation for the hasty wake-up or the sudden dismissal. He knew that Draco was nursing a bruised ego, and his pride probably kept him aloof as he was. Harry needed to confront him about it.

He got his chance, three days later. After Charms, Harry was on his way to his Healing class when he saw blonde hair moving slowly down a side corridor. Draco had been absent from class that day, and Harry saw this as the perfect opportunity to speak with him.

He shook off Hermione, promising not to be late arriving to the Hospital Wing. She knew something was up, but she had not pried into his personal issue, which was a new and pleasant change from the old days of relentlessly pursuing Harry's every secret thought and feeling.

Walking stealthily through the shadows down the deserted corridor, Harry followed Draco, lucky that the blonde's hair was light enough to spot even in the semi-darkness. Eventually, Harry's natural clumsiness betrayed him; he caught his left trainer in the material of his robes and started falling, trying to balance himself against the wall next to him. Unfortunately there was an old suit of armor in the way and he sent the man-shaped metal crashing to the floor.

Draco whipped his head around and cast a quick stunning spell in the general direction of the downed suit of armor. Harry thought it would be best to announce who he was now, before the blonde wizard decided to keep up with the 'curse first, ask questions later' plan.

"Draco, it's just me," he called, trying for a friendly tone but coming off shaky. Harry walked over to wear the blonde was standing, wand still out and aimed. He stopped about fifteen feet away.

"Don't call me that," the blonde said, voice tight with barely controlled emotion.

Harry felt his guilt complex rear its ugly head. All of the blame he placed onto himself for Draco's avoidance suddenly tripled, making him wish he'd never kicked him out in the first place. Or even better, never gotten drunk enough to engage in sexual acts with him. "Listen, I'm sor—"

But he was unable to finish his apology. Draco had barely flicked his wand and cast a non-verbal silencing spell on him. Harry tried the standard counters he knew but found himself still unable to speak. All of the guilt he'd felt was suddenly tossed away to be replaced by a sudden and fiery anger. Harry's feet started moving with barely a thought and before either boy really knew what was happening, Harry's fist connecting with Draco's jaw, sending him tumbling.

Harry stared, mouth agape, at the picture the blonde made sprawled out on the ground. 'Oh Merlin,' he thought. His anger had come from nowhere and yet again he'd done something he regretted. He wanted desperately to apologize and explain, but Draco was getting back up and raising his wand. Harry could tell by the ominous look in those cold, steel eyes that now was not the time and he would be better served retreating.

Harry bolted, his last sight of the blonde as he growled out a nasty sounding hex and sent a purple beam of light speeding just over Harry's shoulder.

* * *

"_Apagio servus!_" Draco growled, shooting the servant-banishment spell at the Gryffindor's retreating back. He frowned when his aim was off and the spell missed; he would have been granted a blessed reprieve from Potter's presence for a full day which would have a godsend. He wasn't even sure if it would have worked anyway since Draco had no official claim of the other boy as property.

When the momentary adrenaline rush faded, Draco collapsed back into a heap on the cold stone floor of the abandoned corridor. He'd heard the beginning of Harry's—no, Potter's—apology. But even though he desperately wanted to know why he'd been cast away so abruptly, that would require admitting that his feelings had been hurt in the first place, which would inevitably lead to crying. And, though Malfoy men were not banned from crying, Draco refused to let something so trivial reduce him to a blubbering wreck.

He had no reason to hurt this badly. He and Potter were never anything official. Hell, they weren't anything unofficial either. Yet, Draco felt as if he'd lost his long-time lover, been told he had been nothing but a play toy the entire time. He knew it was ridiculous, but it felt far more real than a quick grope under a table and some intense snogging while drunk that just so happened to lead them both to climax.

He had been the one to do the flirting. It had been him that had initiated everything. Harry had done nothing, other than let it happen. While he hadn't said no to any of Draco's advances, he'd never said yes either. Draco was just a fool who let himself believe that someone could actually care for him.

'Ugh,' he thought, shaking his head viciously in attempt to force the self-deprecating thoughts from his head. 'This was not a big deal. This was just a silly crush that didn't pan out, bruised ego compounding things.' He really had to stop being such a melodramatic girl.

* * *

Harry's next few weeks did not get any better and his capability to hide his bad attitude behind his meagerly erected walls of Occlumency was eroding quickly. Hermione knew something was up with him, but since she considered herself at fault for forcing Draco on him and causing this current state of affairs, she'd kept mum on the subject. All in all, his year was not going well. Of course, his grades were not suffering, but that was only because he'd taken to retreating behind homework and studying when a day had been overly stressful, which was most days.

After a month of failed attempts at apologizing to Draco, and the blonde's increasingly skillful efforts at avoiding him, Harry's control was coming close to snapping. He'd been visited by the same dream of Voldemort and Bellatrix discussing Necromancy, the dream lasting maybe a minute longer each time, thus revealing more and more of the conversation.

His attempts at discussing his dreams further with Hermione and even Ron were met with complete apathy, both of his best friends writing the whole thing down as his stress manifesting while he slept. Well, those were Hermione's words but Ron was inclined to agree with her one-hundred percent. They had, after all, just started dating officially. Hermione had tired of waiting for Ron to grow the spine needed to ask her and finally asked him out herself. The two were frequently seen at the small study table in the back of the library, and Harry was certain they were doing more than just studying, further worsening Harry's mood.

So, it was in a terrible mood that Ginny found him, sequestered in the corner of the 8th-year common room with a mountain of books and scraps of discarded parchment strewn about him. He did not notice her approach, but when she picked up a pile of completed assignments from the chair next to him, he started badly and sent his current book and notes careening to the floor.

"Merlin, you're jumpy," Ginny greeted cheerfully, effectively shooting down any possible comment Harry might have made. He simply looked up at her, causing her to gasp when she saw the dark circles around his eyes and the defeated look he was currently sporting. "Harry, what's happened to you?"

"It's nothing Ginny, just haven't been sleeping well," he replied, though he could tell she wasn't buying it.

"I'm not buying it," she said. Harry would have laughed if his entire being wasn't so downtrodden. "What's going on, you stupid git? And why haven't you told anyone?"

"It's nothing," he tried again, but he was quickly quelled when Ginny leveled him with her best 'Molly Weasley' glare. "I _have _told someone about it. Both Ron and Hermione know and they both said that it was nothing to worry about and that it's only because of the extreme stress that I'm having dreams in the first place."

"You've been having nightmares again?" she asked, and Harry cursed himself for letting that slip. "The same kind of nightmares you used to have when Riddle was alive?"

Harry knew he was going to have to 'fes up, and sighed to himself. "No, they're not the same as the visions I had when he was still a blight on our world. I'm not seeing his thoughts or emotions. And there isn't any torturing."

Ginny looked relieved that his connection with Voldemort hadn't somehow reactivated, but she didn't look like she'd be placated by such a vague answer, so Harry continued. After all, she was a great friend and close confidante. Plus, she wasn't yet in the throes of young love like Hermione and Ron, so she might be willing to step in as best friend until Blaise got up the nerve to ask her out.

"I _do _see Voldemort, but he's just sitting there in a dark room, talking to Bellatrix Lestrange. And when I first had the dream, I was there with them. Well, in the room, watching. Now I'm only seeing the whole thing like a movie, but I'm aware of some of Voldemort's thoughts. It's not like I hear or feel anything from him in my mind like I used to; I just— know things he's thinking sometimes…"

**. . .**

"_You will become my second in command. This development, however, must remain between the two of us only. To the rest of my followers, nothing will appear to have changed; you will still be in my Inner Circle. But it will be only you I trust with a new task, one which will require you help to complete. This task is of the utmost importance, and it cannot be completed alone"_

_Bellatrix's eyes burned with unbridled excitement and zealous passion. Being let in on a secret and knowing she was the only one trusted with the information, not to mention being trusted to help her lord with a task that was clearly of the highest priority. She nodded her head eagerly, conveying her willingness to be entrusted with the Dark Lord's plans._

"_Tell me, Bella, what knowledge do you possess about the art of Necromancy?"_

_Bellatrix looked taken aback for just a fraction of a second before covering the reaction. Tom had seen though, and delighted in surprising his servant in such a way. She truly looked beautiful…_

"_My lord," she said, leaning forward eagerly. "I know only the most basic concepts spoken of in many standard texts about the Dark Arts. I have never had the chance to study such an esteemed skill."_

_Voldemort was pleased with her eagerness. "I will educate you myself in these arts. With your help, I will achieve true greatness, never before seen and never forgotten."_

**. . .**

Ginny sat quietly for a moment, digesting everything Harry had just recounted to her. Harry smiled his first genuine smile in days when he saw he brow crease with the honest effort of her thoughts. Unlike Hermione and Ron, she was carefully contemplating the implications his dream, instead of fully dismissing it as physically manifested stress. He would definitely have to spend more time with her. His tension was slowly melting away just by being in her bubbly presence.

"You said that, in your very first dream about this all, you were actually there in a physical sense, so to speak?" the redhead asked.

"Yeah, I was able to walk around and stuff. Look at things, even pick them up, though neither Riddle or Bellatrix seemed to notice."

"But since then, you've just seen the scene play out like a portrait?"

"Yeah," Harry said, wondering where her line of thought was leading, and yet again amused by her wizarding reference where he had used a muggle reference. He honestly hadn't given this fact any thought.

"Well, then I think you have to consider that this may be a real vision," she said simply.

Harry looked at her quizzically, wondering how she'd come to that conclusion. "How, in Merlin's name, did you decide that?"

"Honestly, Harry," she said fondly. "Didn't you ever pay attention in Divination? There are different ways that true Seers are informed of the future, or even see the past. True Seers, mind you—not silly charlatans that use props to 'read the future'. One of those ways is Prophesy, though they are unaware when it happens and if there is no one to witness, it goes unheard and forgotten."

Harry nodded, still wondering what the girl was getting at.

"Another method that's less common, though in this instance the Seer would remember, is in Prophetic Dreams."

The wizard sat up straight in his chair. "So you're saying you think I'm a Seer?"

"No, silly," Ginny laughed at him. "I think that when Voldemort accidentally created the link between the two of you, he _also _inadvertently opened a channel between you and the Winds of Fate, or something ridiculous like that."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her explanation and she swatted at him.

"What I _mean _is, I think your mind has been partially opened to the ministrations of Fate. But you only see things that relate to you, and then only when it's important, most likely. You were able to inspect the detail of the room you were in, proving that it was most likely a real place rather than a dream conjuration. Normal, everyday dreams, even when they are based in a real place, are never truly detailed. And since we don't usually have control of the dreams, we can never get close enough to the edges to see where reality breaks down, so our minds fill in the blanks for us."

Harry was listening with rapt attention now, briefly wondering when his best friend's little sister had learned so much.

"On the occasion that you have a lucid dream, you usually become aware that you're dreaming in the first place because you see these lacks of detail, and that incongruence with reality is like an alert to the fakeness of it all. _You _were able to move around and examine things, yet your mind never rejected the place as real. You saw real-life detail even though you didn't know this place. So, it probably was an event that actually happened."

Harry couldn't help but agree with her, so they spent more time discussing what it could all mean. Finally they settled with waiting and seeing what more might come and Harry was suddenly less apprehensive about what it was all leading to. He had an ally, and he felt like he could eventually convince his two other best friends that these were no ordinary dreams.

"So…" Ginny finally said after a long moment of silence during which Harry had gone back to his homework (even though the assignment had yet to be assigned and he had only started it as an escape from his troubles). He looked up and saw the knowing glint in her eyes and had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

"Tell me what happened between you and Draco that has you all depressed."

Harry couldn't decide whether to pout or rejoice that he finally had someone in whom he could vent his frustrations.

* * *

Draco watched Potter discreetly from across the common room, taking care to look like he was thoroughly engrossed in his reading, lest Ginny Weasley noticed his staring. He wasn't worried about Potter noticing him. After all, he'd cast a notice-me-not charm on himself that would specifically keep Potter from paying him much attention; it had greatly aided in his 'avoid Potter' strategy.

After the disastrous meet-up in the empty corridor, Draco had done his level best to avoid Potter as if he had a bad case of Mer-Pox (a rare disease where the afflicted's skin turned shades of green, with large boils sprouting up everywhere that eventually burst, expelling an incredibly foul smelling brownish-green puss). However, after a week of close calls where Potter had almost managed to corner him a number of times, the blonde had chosen a smarter, and altogether less stressful, solution.

He'd had two weeks free from the Boy-Who-Is-A-Git's relentless pursuit and found himself finally calming down. He couldn't believe how much that one stupid night had affected him. Well, that stupid night, and the absolutely awful morning after. Draco had never woken up in bed with another boy. Hell, he'd never gone to sleep with another boy either. Harry had been his first in that regard, and Draco had spent that night sleeping curled up with the brunette, dreaming of Harry being his first in other ways as well…

Dammit, he was dwelling on Harry again. And it was _Potter_, for fuck's sake. However much he tried and tried to not think about Potter, he couldn't help it; his thoughts invariably led back to the stupid ponce. He was certain that the boy kept coming after him to apologize. But Draco didn't want to hear it. Because listening to his apology meant admitting that his feelings had been hurt in the first place, which they certainly were not… He never liked him in the first place. So there!

His inner voice was getting far too petulant right now for his own sanity.

* * *

He mentally silenced his sulky inner monologue and realized he was staring openly at Potter again. And Ginny Weasley was looking directly at him even though she appeared to be paying close attention to Potter's every word.

"So," Ginny said finally after Harry poured his heart out to her about what had happened the morning after the 7th/8th Year party. "Basically, your puny boy-brain couldn't handle it all and you overreacted? And then, you stalked him down a supposedly deserted corridor in an attempt to apologize but ended up punching him instead?"

It wasn't really a question, but Harry nodded anyway. "Yes, and now Draco is avoiding me," he said hanging his head in defeat. "I haven't seen him outside of classes or meals in weeks, which is odd considering we sleep next door to each other. And I didn't just punch him out of nowhere; he silenced me!"

"What do you mean you haven't seen him?" Ginny asked. When Harry had started talking about him, she'd glanced about and spotted the blonde seated across the room quite easily. "He's right there. And he's been staring at you for the last half-hour."

Harry twisted in his seat in an attempt to spot his one-time lover. Seeing no shock of blonde hair anywhere, Harry turned back to Ginny, brows furrowed. "I don't see him anywhere."

"He must have made himself unnoticeable to you and your eyes keep skipping over his seat," the redhead said sensibly. "But I can see him, and until he saw me, he was staring at you the whole time, looking miserable and…"

"And what?" Harry asked hastily.

"I don't know. It's like he was vacillating between angry, sad, indignant, and longing. If I were to guess, he's not happy with the current situation as it stands."

Harry looked too hopeful for Ginny to refuse when he asked her for advice on how to get Draco to just stop and listen to an apology. Together, they schemed. And as discreet as he was obviously trying to be, Ginny noticed every time the blonde's attention returned to Harry.

* * *

Harry fell into a blissful sleep that night, the anxiety over his Draco 'situation' relieved for the moment. He always felt better about things when he had a plan. He made it through most of the night, enjoying pleasant dreams about a blonde, a bed with green sheets, and a lot of tan, sweaty, exposed skin rubbing against pale, unmarred flesh.

**. . .**

"_Tell me, Bella, what knowledge do you possess about the art of Necromancy?"_

_Bellatrix looked taken aback for just a fraction of a second before covering the reaction. Tom had seen though, and delighted in surprising his servant in such a way. She truly looked beautiful…_

"_My lord," she said, leaning forward eagerly. "I know only the most basic concepts spoken of in many standard texts about the Dark Arts. I have never had the chance to study such an esteemed skill."_

_Voldemort was pleased with her eagerness. "I will educate you myself in these arts. With your help, I will achieve true greatness, never before seen and never forgotten."_

_The scene shifted. Again they were in a room, empty of people save for the Dark Lord and Bellatrix. Voldemort was seated in the same high-backed chair as before, and Bellatrix was also sitting in a chair, though it was no more than a wooden stool with a flimsy back. The setting was much different this time._

_This room was not barren as before. Indeed, the surroundings were quite posh, and Harry found himself once again physically present in the space and free to walk around. He made a quick circle around the room, paying close attention to the knick-knacks on the mantle. There was an ornate Floo powder container, made of stone and holding enough powder for every student in Hogwarts to make a roundtrip to somewhere. Next was a wicked looking dagger. It had a human-bone handle and a curved blade that glinted in the weak stirrings of the magical-blue fire. The edge of the blade was spelled to cause a wound in the opponent that could not easily be healed with magic. It would leave the wound open and oozing unless healed by the wielder of the knife. How Harry knew the handle was a human bone, and how he knew the blade's capabilities, he was unsure. He filed it for later consideration._

"_My sweet Bella," Voldemort spoke, finally breaking the oppressive silence. Harry gagged again at the sickly-sweet affection in his voice. Tom Riddle had a strange, sick taste for clinically insane women, it appeared. The brunette wouldn't have been shocked by his choice, except he had never thought that Voldemort had __**any**__ taste in women. Or men._

"_Yes, my lord?" Bellatrix looked adoringly upon her master. What Harry used to see as fanaticism in her eyes he now recognized as lust. He couldn't help the shudder that ran through him as he understood past dealings from a new perspective. Eww. _

"_I have given you one month and the best collection of Dark Arts literature in the British Isles. Tell me all that you have learned," Snake-Face said, towering imperiously despite being seated. Surely the chair helped with that image…_

"_B-But, my lord," Bellatrix whinged like a cantankerous child. "Surely we've gone through this enough ti—"_

"_Crucio!" Voldemort was very suddenly on his feet, wand pointed at the woman who was seizing violently in her chair. A brief moment later and the curse was lifted. _

_Bellatrix slumped to the floor in relief. She prostrated herself on the ground and begged forgiveness for speaking against her master. Voldemort pulled his robe away and out of reach._

"_ENOUGH!" he bellowed, appearing sickened by the display before him. "From the beginning!"_

_Bellatrix began to recite everything she knew about Necromancy, sounding eerily similar to Hermione (at least to Harry) in her word for word memorization. _

"_Necromancy is the ultimate sacrificial art. With the destruction of one soul, another can be raised. The price is high, but great reward requires great sacrifice."_

"_Yesss," he practically hissed. "And how many souls must be destroyed to return someone from beyond the veil?" Voldemort asked, encouraging his prized Death Eater to recall the information._

"_At least five hundred souls, my lord," she said reverently. "More, if the one being returned was extraordinarily powerful or dead more than fifty years. At least, that's what my Arithmancy says."_

_Harry gasped. Five hundred. This plan would require at least five hundred people to give up their lives. Or have them taken, as it were. _

"_Yes," Voldemort mused. "And how long until a witch or wizard's soul and magic leaves their body?"_

"_A century does a wizard's soul remain, my lord, but only half as long does his magic endure." Bellatrix's voice was a grating sound: half frenzied speech, half cackle._

"_Ah, Bella," the Dark Lord chuckled, and to Harry it sounded like genuine amusement. Yet another emotion Harry had been sure Tom Riddle was incapable of. "Such a well-known axiom, but nonetheless false."_

_Upon that simple pronouncement, Bellatrix rose from her knees, looking truly curious to find out the truth, which was why Voldemort had chosen her for this task in the first place. She had a thirst for knowledge, a taste for blood, more loyalty than all of his other servants combined, and she was his most lovely servant._

_Harry grimaced as his brain filled him in on what the evil, twisted, apparently horny bastard was thinking. He really wanted to sick up, and he prayed that in none of these visions would he see either Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange naked. That would effectively kill any hopes and dreams his libido might have for the rest of his life._

"_A Wizard's soul, if he is exceptionally powerful, remains with his deceased body for up to 177 years. This same wizard's magic will only remain for 50-55 years before it disperses back into the Earth. I seek to return the magical power of one such wizard which means we have little time to prepare. Within a year, we must be ready to perform the ritual, or else the magical signature will have disintegrated beyond return."_

_Bellatrix began looking greedy when she heard that they would be raising just the magical power of some dead wizard instead of raising someone from the dead. It would take considerably less sacrifices to raise just the magic. And maybe her master would share some of the reclaimed power with her._

"_My lord," she began, looking directly at her master. "Whose magic are we resurrecting?"_

_Voldemort looked directly into her eyes and, without a word said, 'Grindelwald.'_

**. . .  
**

+-+-+-+-+  
End Chapter 5  
+-+-+-+-+

Apagio – be gone

Servus – servant/slave/underling (I imagine this spell could be used quite effectively by an angry boss who had been pestered one too many times by their employees, teehee)

" 'Fes up.' " This might be an entirely American phrase, but I thought it fit better than saying "confess" which carries so many negative connotations with it, at least for me.

_A/N: Yes, I know that in DH, Grindelwald is still alive and Voldemort gets information from him. However, according to the HP Lexicon, JKR said that he died in 1945 (she said this in 2005). For the purposes of my story, I need him dead in '45, so you can come up with your own explanations of who the guy was in Deathly Hallows that Voldie spoke with._

_If the Voldie/Bellatrix thing squicks you out, good! It's awkward to me as well. But I always felt like Bellatrix was 1,000,000% more invested than the next-most fanatical Death Eater. She married Rodolphus, but she's totally *crazy* in love with Voldie. I decided to just throw it in for a bit of fun, but no nakedness from them. I promise._

_Also, I'll be going out of town for the Thanksgiving Holiday. When I return, Chapter 6 will hopefully be ready to post! It'll be filled with a bunch of desperate attempts at communication! So, see you in a week (ish)!_


	6. The Letters

**Disclaimer:** Yep. I'm totally J.K, masquerading as a 25 y/o man on a fanfic website…

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections, silly boys.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

**Chapter 6: The Letters**

Harry woke with a start. His latest dream-vision had shown him how desperate for power Voldemort really was—as if Harry didn't already know that. He was just glad that whatever crazy necromantic ritual he had planned hadn't come to fruition. Raising and claiming another wizard's power? Insane. But then again, the two most insane people Harry had ever met were the ones planning it.

He contented himself with the knowledge that Voldemort had failed and Bellatrix was dead, and got out of bed. He decided not to think about exactly why he was having his visions. Doing so had never helped before, and he reasoned that if things didn't stop he could talk to someone.

In the meantime he had a plan to set in motion. He grabbed a quill and parchment and wrote a quick note.

_D,_

_Sorry._

_-H_

It was hardly anything, but Harry fully expected the letter to be burned immediately upon reading, so it didn't need to be too special. He just needed to start somewhere, and Ginny had guessed that this was the easiest way to force Draco to at least recognize his existence again. If he could just get a chance to talk to the blonde face to face, he could explain why he had freaked out that morning, and apologize for it. Then, perhaps they could try for a date in Hogsmeade.

While in the shower, Harry thought about a possible date that sounded rather nice. He'd need to take Draco somewhere fancy for dinner. Surely the Slytherin expected to be wined and dined properly. Hogsmeade had a handful of upscale restaurants further from the high road, out of view of the typical students. But Harry didn't want to be too typical, so just dinner wouldn't cut it.

Shutting off the water, the raven-haired wizard emptied his head of ideas for future dates. First he had to get Draco to talk to him before a date was even feasible. He had to hurry along to the Owlery to send his message. He knocked into something on his way out of the bathroom hard enough to bruise his shoulder, but didn't look back at whatever it was. It wasn't more important than his plan.

He dressed quickly and hurried down to the common room with his things. He had just enough time to send the letter and get to breakfast on time. On his way out the door, he heard his name being called. When he turned around, it was Hermione hurrying down the last few stairs from the girls' dorms.

"Where are you off to so early?" she asked, crossing the remaining distance at a much calmer pace.

"The Owlery," Harry said, holding up the letter he intended to send.

"Excellent!" Hermione exclaimed, digging into a side pocket of her Expand-A-Space bag and dragging out a large order form. "I need to send off my owl order to Flourish & Blotts."

Harry eyed the number of books listed, entirely unsurprised to see dozens of titles listed. "Buying the whole shop, then?" he quipped, trying to hide his smile.

"Just nearly all," she joked back. Together they left the East Tower, taking the long walk to the Owlery. Harry filled her in on his and Ginny's plan to force Draco to talk to him. She thought it sounded somewhat childish, but agreed that it might be necessary to end the blonde's silent treatment.

Upon entering the Owlery, Hermione quickly went over to one of the school owls—having deemed her missive too heavy and important for Pig—and sent off her order. Harry stood in the center of the room and whistled. For a few seconds, nothing happened, until finally he heard the swooping sound of wings and turned to see his handsome owl, Gwydion, flying toward him from behind.

His mottled wood owl was a bit of a prankster, if an owl could be such a thing, so Harry had named him Gwydion after the famous magician who had been quite the con artist in his day. Harry's new companion liked to sneak up on him if he thought Harry wasn't paying attention, and often he would steal food from his breakfast plate, or lunch plate, or even his tea which he had taken every day the past summer with Molly Weasley.

At first, Harry hadn't wanted to replace Hedwig, afraid of spoiling and disrespecting the memory of her friendship and heroism. But reason said he needed an owl to deliver his oft overwhelming amount of mail. He had met Gwydion in Eeylop's and immediately taken to his Fred-like ways.

Harry gave him a treat which he happily munched whilst the letter was tied to his leg. The owl took off with a screech, and Harry and Hermione left the tower and walked to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry sat next to Ginny, across from Hermione and Ron. Ginny was drinking coffee much to Ron's displeasure.

"It's just not befitting of a proper Weasley witch is all," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world (Molly always makes tea, never coffee).

"I don't think you're one to judge what is and isn't proper for a Weasley witch seeing as you've yet to get yourself one," Ginny answered acerbically, looking pointedly between him and Hermione. Both blushed at the implied meaning and Harry had to resist giggling. He was in a light mood this morning, having set his plans in motion.

Ginny passed him the pumpkin juice and, using the jug as a shield between herself and Ron, asked if he'd sent his note yet. He just grinned, which was all the answer she needed, really. A few moments later, everyone looked up as a swarm of birds flew into the Hall, carrying packages, letters, sweets, and well-wishes from home. Ginny saw Harry's own Gwidion fly over to the Slytherin table. He flew around the top of Draco's head, the blonde being totally unaware. Slowly, he descended, stalking his prey like the hunter he was.

Before Draco knew what was happening, and indeed, before the other Slytherins could give warning, Draco found his kippers stolen from his plate and his tea spilled in his lap. He did not look happy at this turn of events. Ginny filled Harry—who could not yet seem to notice the object of his plans—in on what was happening. She was particularly delighted to note that Gwidion had decided Draco's head was a smart perch and had settled himself there, eating his filched kippers and holding his leg out in front of Draco, letter dangling in front of his eyes.

Seething in anger, Draco snatched the note off the owl, receiving an indignant squawk and peck on the forehead. He read the letter and, scowling, pulled out his wand and set the note aflame. Gwidion flew off at the display and Harry asked Ginny what Draco's reaction was.

"Well, it's hard to tell how he took your letter, due to his already sour attitude at having a bird perched atop him. I suppose he's going to need to go back to the Tower to redo his hair." She laughed again, and their day went on.

* * *

The next week went much the same, though Gwidion never pranked Draco again, and always flew off the minute Harry's latest letter was removed. The notes were all similar, saying things like, "Sorry" and "Just talk to me, please."

Seven days came and went, and with them, seven charred notes. Still, according to Ginny, the blonde always read them before destroying them.

Finally, Harry decided to step up the game. It was Monday, and time for a new tactic. Harry sent the usual letter this morning, but made a few subtle and not-so-subtle changes. He charmed the parchment to resist burning, thus thwarting Draco's attempts at setting it on fire. Secondly, the parchment was also charmed to fly around his head, occasionally bumping into him, reminding him of what was written.

_D,_

_You can take the Notice-Me-Not charm off now. It's been fading ever since you bumped into me in the bathroom._

_H_

Harry had been stretching the truth just a bit, but it was true. If he tried really hard, and focused all of his will on it, he could see Draco seated across the Great Hall in his usual spot, trying to eat his breakfast while an owl-shaped origami letter fluttered about, hooting realistically. Draco's friends all found this uproariously funny, and Blaise even made eye-contact with Harry across the room, giving him the thumbs up.

Harry felt encouraged. It may be childish, and he may be bringing the wrath of Malfoy down upon his own head, but if it would force the blonde to talk to him, it was worth it. No matter how long it may take. He hoped they could go on their first date before the Halloween Feast (and resulting 7th and 8th Year party). The stubborn git just needed to get over himself and talk, dammit!

Harry continued his new tactic for the rest of the week.

* * *

Tuesday (the parchment was folded as a crane)

_D,_

_Thanks for taking it off._

_H_

Wednesday (a swan)

_D,_

_Can't we talk?_

_H_

Thursday (a fwooper – Harry was getting good at these charms and transfigurations)

_D,_

_Come on. I just want to explain what happened. _

_H_

Friday (an eagle)

_D,_

_I promise, it will make more sense if you'll just talk to me._

_H_

Saturday (a phoenix)

_D,_

_You don't even have to talk, just listen to what I have to say._

_H_

Draco read the most recent note from Potter. They had become a bloody nuisance, and his resolve to ignore the Git-Who-Wouldn't-Give-Up was fast running out. In one last attempt to stop the barrage of parchment, he stood and immediately fixed his glare on one Harry Potter.

"NO!" he screamed, before turning and walking out of the Great Hall, leaving his uneaten breakfast behind. He wasn't looking, so he didn't see the matching conspiratorial grins on both Harry and Ginny's faces.

* * *

The next day, Draco walked downstairs to the Common Room after breakfast had already ended. His hope was that he could miss Potter's daily owl, and the absolute annoyance it was. He was not to be so lucky, though.

When he crossed the threshold into the Common Room proper, dozens of origami roses 'sprouted' from the ground around his feet, each chanting the word "Please" over and over. Draco turned as red as the roses, and no attempt he made at silencing them was successful. He was lucky that most of his fellow 8th Years were still not back from breakfast and so only a few were there to witness his string of curses, all-the-while brandishing his wand in dramatic and angry gestures.

The charm giving life to the paper monstrosities faded after just five minutes, much to Draco's relief. He looked at the now-inanimate flowers around him and had to be impressed; Potter was putting a lot of effort and using some very clever magic. That didn't mean Draco was going to give in. Of course not. Right.

The next day, the blonde forced himself to go to breakfast, even though he knew he would find himself the center of another embarrassing attempt from Potter. He had Transfigurations first thing in the morning and would not be put off his meal by one annoying, green-eyed, silky-haired git.

To his surprise, he was able to eat his entire meal with nothing happening, though he was tense and anxious the whole time. He also made it through his Transfigurations without an upsetting moment. Of course, Potter would have been daft to try disrupting her lecture. Draco was just waiting for the next ridiculous craft project to jump out at him. He wasn't nervous at all.

It wasn't until he entered the Charms classroom that it happened. He was engrossed in a conversation with Pansy—and not looking out for Potter at all—when the ceiling exploded with confetti. They were all chanting "please" on repeat in Potter's voice. Somewhere, amidst the ruckus, Draco could hear Flitwick's delighted laughter, and shouts of "Well done, Mr. Potter. Incredible display of charms prowess. 20 points to Gryffindor!"

Upon close inspection of a small piece that fell into his hand, they were miniature Harry Potter faces, smiling at him in such a sincere puppy-dog face that Draco finally broke. He couldn't say no anymore. Harry had gone to such great lengths to try and talk to him, and, honestly, it was getting old dealing with it every day. He finally just looked at Potter, who was already seated and watching his reaction, and said, "Okay, fine. We can talk."

Potter's face lit up like a child discovering Christmas had come twice and Draco knew that he was going to have a hard time saying no to the idiot in the future.

"Well now," Professor Flitwick said with a last amused grin. "May we begin?"

* * *

Harry was counting down the seconds until Charms class ended (and honestly, he'd spent so much time perfecting his charms these last couple of weeks, he hardly needed to pay attention). As soon as Professor Flitwick released them for lunch, he was at Draco's desk, bouncing on his toes in poorly concealed excitement and impatience. He knew he probably looked a little foolish, but he was fine with that. For all he knew, it would help him earn the forgiveness and second chance he wanted.

"What, now?" Draco asked, looking up at him as if he were the silliest wizard in the world, which might have been true.

"Uh…yeah, if you don't mind," Harry replied, involuntarily biting his lip. Draco looked like he wanted to protest, but finally he breathed out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine," he said. "But you had better not make me miss lunch."

"Not a problem," Harry sad brightly, before grasping Draco's arm and tugging him toward the door. The Slytherin pulled his arm free of Harry's control, but continued to follow him. Harry led them to the kitchens, remaining silent the entire time. He didn't want to start this conversation until he had Draco's undivided attention.

The House Elves quickly inundated them with food, putting strain on the battered old table that was off to the side from where the main house table replicas sat. Once they had each tucked in, and Draco seemed to be slowing down, Harry began to talk. He reached out for the blonde's hand, but the hand pulled away as Draco folded his arms across his chest. Harry tried not to show his disappointment, which was of course a total failure.

"Listen," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted the morning after the party."

"Took you long enough to say it," Draco said, clearly putting forth effort to make this as difficult as possible. Harry smartly chose not to rise to the bait.

"I know," he said instead, shocking Draco if the twitch of his eyebrow was anything to go by. "And I'm sorry about that too. About that morning…I wasn't just upset about you."

"But you _were_ upset about me being there?" Draco asked, clearly offended and trying not to show how much.

"Yes. No! I mean, somewhat."

Draco sneered at his fumbling attempts at proper thought but remained silent, so Harry continued.

"I was completely wrapped up in a nightmare I woke up from—" Harry chose not to bring up the fact that they are actually prophetic visions. "The nightmare was awful—about the war—"

Draco flinched, but Harry didn't pause.

"And all of a sudden I noticed you were in my bed, and I had no recollection of how you got there, or even how I got there. I realized what we had done at the party the night before, in front of everyone. That, on top of my dream, I just overloaded and panicked."

Draco sat still for moment, frowning. "I understand a nightmare being terrible," he said with a shudder. They both had memories from the war that they would just as soon forget. "But I don't see why that paltry bit of fooling around we did warranted me being thrown out of the room like some common whore. If I recall, you were just as enthusiastic to be putting on that show as I was."

"Draco," Harry said, capturing the blonde's full attention, "I like you. At least I think I do. That's why I freaked out. I had never kissed a boy before you. And I had never done more than just kissing, even with Cho and Ginny. Then all of a sudden, I'm being wanked under a desk and humping you in front of all my friends and I don't even know if you like me too."

Draco looked stricken. He'd thought Potter had at least gone that far with the girl-Weasley. How does a hero not get some after saving the whole world?

"I—" he began, not sure how to properly respond. He couldn't blame Potter for his overreaction. Waking up in bed with someone for the first time with no initial recollection of the night before, only to remember what happened and be ashamed of the spectacle you made of yourself. Yeah, Draco had dealt with that at Voldemort's hand. As punishment both to him and the muggle prisoners that had been kept at the manor, Draco had been drugged, Imerioused, and forced to rape a handful of women, then left to wake with them in his own bed, still covered in their joint emissions.

"I didn't realize you were completely innocent in literally every way," he finally said, awkwardly.

"Yeah," Harry said with a soft chuckle. "Hero. Saviour of the Wizarding world. Total virgin, innocent of all thing pleasurable, be they alcohol, girls, or boys."

Draco laughed despite trying to keep his emotions tied down.

"So, could I have a second chance?" Harry asked, eyes full of hope, yet with a touch of fear of rejection.

Draco looked at him for a long time, unblinking. Harry—for he was right back to being Harry again—was asking for the second chance this time and Draco knew how important it had been for him to be granted his own fresh start.

"Yes," he said simply, leaning forward and capturing Harry's lips for a brief kiss. Brief as it was, it left boy boys breathless, foreheads pressed against each other.

"Can we move slowly, though?" Harry asked, a touch of nervousness causing his voice to waver.

"As slow as you need," Draco responded. He leaned forward and kissed Harry again, this time it was longer, and the brunette made no move to end it.

+-+-+-+-+  
End Chapter 6  
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_A/N: Yes, I know this is somewhat short. It was originally intended just as a short interlude before the next chapter, but it sort of took on a life of its own and ended up more than 3000 words. Oops… Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and look forward to the next chapter the end of the week. As always, I beg you to review. Good, bad, whatever you think. Every time I receive a new alert from you all, I do a little happy dance and try to write and publish even faster._

_Oh, and as a Ravenclaw (so sayeth Pottermore), I have a question. What's with the name Gwidion?_


	7. The Not-So-Secret Halloween After-Party

**Disclaimer:** Yep. I'm totally J.K, masquerading as a 25 y/o man on a fanfic website…

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections, descriptions of torture.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

_A/N: First, I'll apologize for the lengthy author's notes here at the beginning. But there are some warnings you should heed. First, this chapter is fairly long, and I was going to split it into two, but I changed my mind (I mean, the last chapter was so short, at only 3000 words. Here are over 7,500 to make up for it). Because of that, it's a bit of a rollercoaster. There's some very fun fluff to begin with, but after that…well sorry. If you have a serious problem with the Bella/Voldie stuff or if descriptions of torture, then you should skip the section in italics and there will be a short summary after the chapter so you don't miss the important bits. Hmm, well these a/n weren't so long after all._

**Chapter 7: The Not-So-Secret Halloween After-Party**

Draco smiled to himself as he walked to lunch. The gossip machine that was Hogwarts was working non-stop. The Halloween feast was at the end of the week, on a Sunday this year, and no one was talking about anything else. Well, perhaps the talk wasn't so much centered around the feast, but more on the secret after-party that the 8th Years were throwing.

It was Pansy's idea, and she had put a lot of effort into it. Of course, she'd tapped her resources, like any smart witch would. Ron was getting party supplies from George—apparently the chance to make some more mischief at Hogwarts was helping George move on without Fred. Hermione and Harry (the recently discovered charms wiz) were handling the decorations, and Draco was in charge of booze. Blaise was teaming up with Dean and Seamus (for Draco was trying to refer to everyone by their given names in an effort to make Harry happy) to provide music.

The students who were unable to attend due not being of age were still just as excited about the party. They attempted to keep their whispering quitter than a shout, but Draco was thankful that the faculty were turning a blind eye to the entire event. The 8th Years had not asked for permission to throw this party, but since they were not allowing underage students, nobody had a real issue with it. Thus, the not-so-secret after-party was on.

Draco walked into the Great Hall and was surprised by how many faces still turned his and Harry's way. He looked down at their joined hands and smiled again to himself.

Harry had worked so hard to regain his affection and, though he had hated to admit it at the time, it was very touching. Having spent his entire life working to receive favorable attention from his father, as well as trying to brush off his mother's demanding affection (he'd given up on that before he ever even got to Hogwarts in the first place. Narcissa Malfoy was a fiercely loving and protective mother, and she would not be put off by his childish desire not to be "Mother's little dragon"), he'd been hugely affected by someone actually working for his attention.

So yes, Harry had won him back. The last week had been incredibly pleasurable. They would study together, go to classes hand in hand, and sit with each other for meals, alternating between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables of course. Blaise and Pansy had been unusually kind about the whole thing. They hardly brought up the charmed letters that had plagued them all for days, and they didn't tease him and Harry too often about their new, and slowly moving relationship.

And slow moving, it was. Draco was chomping at the bit to move past the hand holding and simple, chaste kisses they had shared. It was true that Harry was deepening and lengthening their snogging sessions, and he'd even put a hand on Draco's thigh last night. But just being around Harry was intoxicating; his scent, his charm, his magic (which thrummed around him like a field of static). It was all becoming too much to bear, but Draco was ruthless in his control.

Unlike Harry, Draco had gone through puberty in a much more natural way, and because of it, his libido was under his strict regulation. Though he couldn't stop the desire from coursing through him at the merest touch from his boyfriend, he was able to stop rising erections before they had so much as a chance. He noticed, though, that Harry's pants were often bulging around him, which made him giddy in anticipation. The brunette was gifted in this department, and Draco was couldn't wait to feel it inside of him, and to claim that fine, muscled arse for himself as well.

But in the meantime, he would wait for Harry to be ready to move forward.

* * *

Harry looked around the Great Hall. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had enlisted his, Ginny's, and Hermione's help in decorating the castle this year. They'd had a fun time charming the suits of armor to speak and then teaching them some short ghost stories and when to shout "BOO!"

The Great Hall looked better than ever. The usual twelve giant pumpkins were in their usual place, but this year they occasionally let out a sinister laugh or cackle. That had been Hermione's doing. Ginny had Bat-bogied the small Jack-o'-Lanterns serving as center-pieces, and they were delightfully gruesome and cast a flickering light over the tables. Instead of the usual bats hovering at the top of the room, Harry had hundreds of bats flying about the entire room, swooping beneath tables and in-between students' heads. That had taken the entire morning to complete; folding that many origami bats, even with magic, was time consuming and draining.

However, despite the intense work it had been, the castle looked amazing. Positively…magical. Harry chucked to himself, thinking his inner voice far more witty than his own attempts at humor.

He looked around at the feast that sat before him. Directly in front was a roast duck that smelled so wonderful he almost didn't notice the other gourmet selections that had been provided. There were truffled potatoes, roast rack of lamb, and platters heaped with miniature spanakopitas. Harry took in the sight of all the unusually refined selections and looked over at Draco, whose attention was currently riveted to the salt-crusted pork loin sitting between Pansy and Hermione.

"Did you have anything to do with the changed menu?" he asked.

"Maybe," Draco said. "Maybe I thought a feast should not just be eating more of the same slop we're fed on a daily basis, but should in fact be different, unique."

Harry grinned and would bet all of his vaults in Gringott's that the Malfoy family's House Elves were working the Hogwarts kitchen. What did Lucius have to say about this?

With a grin, Harry returned his attention to the duck and served himself a kingly meal.

* * *

After leaving the incredible feast, where everyone had gorged themselves on the finest foods Hogwarts had seen in centuries, the 8th Years plus Ginny headed back to the East Tower to get ready for the party. The invitations had specified that no one was to enter the common room (the location of the party, of course) until precisely 10 PM. Of course, the 8th Year students were allowed to traipse through to their dorms, but once upstairs, no peeking!

Harry dressed quickly in his costume after saying goodbye to Draco. He would not see the blonde again until the party started, as his job was done. There was a large assortment of liquors, beers, and malted drinks already located on a table in the corner downstairs. Harry's job had yet to come.

Once he was in costume (he was going as Godric Gryffindor, but looked more like Albus Dumbledore), he headed downstairs to meet Hermione and begin decorating.

"So, Harry," she said from where she was facing a wall and covering it in real looking spider webs (complete with real-looking spiders! Ron would stay away from the alcohol now). "Do you think you could make some more of those bats?"

"That took forever, Hermione," Harry whinged.

"I'm not asking for hundreds, just twenty or thirty," she said, sounding perfectly, insufferably reasonable. "It shouldn't take more than half an hour. Then you can work on enchanting a thick fog to stay low to the floor."

Harry, ever the mature adult, stuck his tongue out at her and began working on creating parchment-bats. He took a stack of parchment, twenty-nine sheets in all, and lay them out on the floor, spaced a centimetre apart. He pointed his wand at the top right corner of the nearest sheet and, pulling is wand slowly in the directing of the opposite corner, said, _Membrana conform, facti Desmodus rotundus."_

The parchment folded intricately into a common vampire bat. With a quick _"Coloro atricolor,"_ it was turned black. He then cast _animato_ and the parchment-bat began to flap its wings. Harry gave it a flight pattern with a careless wave of his wand all around him. The bat took off, flying about the room.

The brunette quickly repeated the process twenty-eight times, finishing in only eighteen minutes. He was rather impressed with himself. He then cast an invisible barrier-ward across the entire room, approximately two feet above even the tallest person's head and banished the bats up above it.

After he completed his first task, he asked Hermione if she could nick a few chunks of stone from the hearth above the fireplace. He could do it himself, but his severing charms were still too powerful, and he was afraid of splitting the fireplace in two. He was going to cast the same invisible barrier-ward along the ground to enclose the fog. But since there would be so many feet trampling through it all night, he needed to anchor the ward somehow. These chipped stone pieces would work perfectly.

He attached a stone to each corner of the common room with a simple Sticking Charm and then cast the ward. He tugged on it to pull it taught against the stones and then tested it. He jumped through it and kicked his feet against it repeatedly. Satisfied with his work, he stuck his wand through where the barrier would be and let smoke issue from his wand. There was no real spell required for this, one simply had to think of a jumble of spells at one time, no matter what they were, and the thick grey fog was the result. Quite a useful decorating skill.

Harry stepped to the center of the room and looked around, pleased with the results. Bats were above, and fog below. Hermione had hung balls of light from the ceiling, and they were casting a creepy orange glow from above. On the floor were strips of white cloth that she'd enchanted to glow, slowly changing colours. These lights filtered up through the fog, making it perfectly eerie. Each wall of the room was a different fear represented: On the north wall (where the drinks were located) was the spider theme: the east wall appeared to be a writhing mass of snakes; the south wall was covered in knives and swords, all impaled in the wall; and the entire west wall appeared to be a swirling vortex of emptiness, appearing to suck in the shadows around it.

"Pretty good, I think," Hermione said.

"More like brilliant!" Harry exclaimed enthusiastically. The room looked incredible, and nothing at all like a common room. The usual couches and tables had been banished and replaced with loveseats and low coffee tables, perfect for setting drinks on, but taking up much less space. These were spaced around the perimeter, leaving a large dance space in the center. Unlike the first party of the year, which had been more of a "Let's get reacquainted and get to know each other better as normal teenagers now that there's no bloody war hanging above our heads, dictating our every decision" party, this was sure to be a much more raucous event.

Harry and Hermione each poured a drink (more firewhiskey and coke) and sat on a loveseat to wait for the party to begin.

"Who are you supposed to be, Hermione?" he asked.

"Morgana, of course," she said with a sniff of disdain. Of course, looking at her, it was clear she had chosen some witch or sorceress from the medieval period, but Harry honestly hadn't paid _that _much attention in History of Magic.

They sat together and chatted about this and that, focused mostly on when Ron might ask her out ("By the Yule Ball, or else!") and how Harry's new relationship was going ("He's much less high maintenance than I expected."). It was an enjoyable half-hour reminiscent of the time spent during the summer when Ron had gotten too obnoxious to be around anymore.

But soon enough, it was 10 and they had to let people in. Harry removed the conjured door blocking the way from the boys' dorms and Hermione did the same for the girls'. The Common Room was flooded with the 8th-Years and Seamus, Dean, and Blaise hurriedly set up their music station in front of the swirling vortex, thinking it an excellent backdrop to their "deejaying skills."

Hermione opened the entrance from the corridor outside and found the entire 7th Year waiting outside, dressed to the nines in various costumes ranging from ghoul to werewolf, dementor to princess. They too flooded the room and Harry was grateful they had though to triple the size of the room; they were going to be very cozy as it was.

Harry remained in his seat, having never gotten up to open the boys' door, and was sipping slowly on his drink—he wanted no repeats of the last party and subsequent day after. Ron found Hermione and they joined him as well. Ron was dressed as Danny McConnell, the Keeper for the Chudley Cannons. The orange would have clashed horribly with his complexion and ginger hair, but Hermione quickly charmed his skin tan and his hair brown, like McConnell's.

They waited for Draco to come down and reveal his costume, but fifteen minutes had already passed and he was nowhere to be seen. Harry stood, about to go fetch him when he finally stepped through the door. Harry gaped at the sight before him, while Ron sniggered and Hermione giggled like a mischievous pixie. Slowly, the room turned toward Draco, the loud music forgotten as everyone got a good look at the latecomer making a grand entrance.

Draco was dressed as Harry Potter. But he hadn't charmed his appearance any different; he had apparently owl-ordered the popular "Dress like Harry Potter" kit that many clothing and toy shops had started selling after Voldemort's defeat ("Complete with stick-on scar and ridiculously unfashionable glasses!"). They were George's first solo creation, a design he and Fred had decided to make long before the war was even close to ending.

On his head was a terrible black wig, every strand of blonde hair tucked up underneath. The style was an awful bowl-cut that looked nothing like Harry's untidy bird's nest. The scar was a bright red lightning bolt, nothing like the incision that had been on his own head (but faded after Voldemort's death, unlike the Dark Marks which remained). The glasses were comically large, obscuring more than half of Draco's face, and he wore Gryffindor robes that he had clearly pilfered from Harry's room, despite his locking and privacy wards.

Draco walked up to him, as pleased as punch with the attention he was receiving, and planted a kiss on his scar.

"I've always wanted to kiss myself, but this is close enough," he said, inspiring a round of laughter from the entire room. Harry blushed and swatted at the ridiculous glasses that had poked him in the top of his head.

"You're absurd," he said.

"Not at all. I've simply chosen the best costume," Draco said with a haughty air, though his childlike grin rather ruined the image. "Now come on, let's dance."

Harry resisted. "You know I'm bollocks at dancing!"

"Well of course you are," Draco replied simply. "But you've never had me as a partner before. I assure you I will not lead you astray." He chuckled at his own pun and pulled Harry onto the empty dance floor. Harry noticed him give a nod to Blaise as some sort of signal and groaned inwardly; this was sure to be mortifying.

A sensual beat started up and Draco grasped Harry's hand, holding one in his left hand and placing the other around his shoulder. Holding their bodies flush together, the blonde started to sway his hips in time with the music. Harry felt every movement, and the sensations were wonderful. He let himself be carried around the dance floor, hardly noticing what steps he was taking.

He focused on the feeling of Draco, his cock which was hard and pressing insistently against Harry's thigh, his hand as it caressed his hip. Harry was quickly lost to the world, hearing only the ever-present beat of the music and knowing only Draco. Suddenly, as the music as reaching its long-awaited climax, Draco leaned in and kissed Harry firmly on the lips. So overtaken was he that Harry's mouth immediately opened, allowing entrance to Draco's talented and searching tongue. They battled for a moment before Harry capitulated, letting Draco plunder his mouth.

After however many days, hours, or seconds it was, Draco broke the kiss. Harry leaned forward trying to recapture the moment, but Draco pulled away, leaving him to catch his breath and regain his senses. When he was aware again, he looked around at the crowd of students bumping and grinding to a completely different song than Harry remembered playing when they had started dancing. He also noticed that they were in a distant corner of the room, hidden in the shadows by the wall of snakes. He finally relaxed, knowing that they hadn't been the center of attention.

"That was…" he began.

"Yes, it was," Draco said, placing a finger on his lips, forestalling any description Harry might have come up with. Instead, Harry just grinned like a loon and dragged his incredibly sexy boyfriend over to the drink table. That dance had left him out of breath and thirsty, and this moment called for a drink!

* * *

A few hours later, Draco sipped his firewhiskey ("Straight up, none of that muggle fizzy stuff") and sat contentedly on the couch. The night had progressed wonderfully. At some point he had ditched his wig and glasses, though he kept the scar. They were simply a nuisance. Harry had similarly removed his large pointed hat and long beard. The room had become incredibly hot, despite room-spanning cooling charms.

The boys had danced a few more times, and spent a lot of time joking around with Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Blaise, and Pansy. His group of friends was getting along better than ever, with the help of some liquor to smooth over any bumps along the way. Though he refused to go make himself a drink and risk "mortal peril" by the spider wall, Ron had stolen enough of Hermione's "girly" drinks to be happy and slightly off balance. He was currently standing with his arm around Blaise's shoulders talking to the boy about how he could "def'ni'ly date MY little sishterrr. Yer a good—" HICUPP —"guy."

Draco snorted into his drink, and even Hermione found the red-head funny. Harry was starting to fall asleep in his lap, and he was absentmindedly stroking his hair. Draco had been delightfully surprised that what looked like a messy configuration of knots and course hair was actually very silky, and there were no knots at all; it just grew that way.

"I think it's time to take this one to bed," he said, pointing down at the now-snoring Saviour. With many goodbyes from both he and Harry, who had woken up just enough to walk himself upstairs, their night ended.

Draco stopped outside of his own door, prepared to say goodnight but Harry grabbed his hand and tugged.

"C'mon," he said sleepily. "Stay with me tonight."

Draco was shocked. They had been moving at such a glacial pace and tonight was the first time Draco had even let Harry be aware of just how aroused he always was.

"Are you sure?" he asked skeptically. "This isn't just some drunken decision you'll regret in the morning?"

"S'not, promise," Harry said, tugging on his arm more insistently. Draco gave in, though he was still unsure if he should allow this.

Harry pulled his garishly blue and purple robes off, revealing pajamas already work beneath them. Draco chuckled at his foresight, and quickly shucked his own black student robes off. He was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt beneath and decided that would be good enough to sleep in. He climbed into bed with Harry, intending to leave a respectful amount of space between them.

Harry was having none of that though, and pulled Draco toward him. He settled his head on Draco's chest and swung one arm and leg over the blonde. Draco was completely wrapped up with the already-asleep-again Harry Potter, and couldn't help but grin like a fool. A fool who was beginning to wonder if this might be love…

* * *

Harry awoke earlier than expected the next morning, and sunlight had just begun to flood the room. There was one supposed benefit to living on the east side of the East Tower—fantastic sunrises. However, upon waking today, Harry was less than enthused to have the sun glaring at him through the window when he had a splitting headache.

He looked on the bedside table and, sure enough, Hermione had left him his usual hangover potion. And one for Draco as well! She had always been able to bypass his wards, but of course, Harry trusted her implicitly so wasn't very surprised.

He downed his potion and immediately felt better. Finally, he looked at the curled up ball of sheets next to him on the bed. Somewhere in the blankets was Draco, still asleep. Harry got up and made his way to the bathroom. On the way, he cast a _tempus _charm, discovering that it was only 8:30. He went through a truncated version of his morning ritual; his headache was gone, but he was still foggy with sleep.

When he got back to his room half an hour later, he saw that Draco had not moved even an inch from when Harry left him. The brunette sat down on the bed and debated if he should wake the blonde. It occurred to him that maybe Draco wasn't a morning person, which making Harry's last wake-up call those many weeks ago all the more awful. No wonder Draco had been so angry.

Finally, he decided it would be best to let sleeping dragons lie and, once again chucking at his own joke, grabbed his school things and went downstairs to study. He wasn't surprised to see Hermione already there, working on homework that wouldn't be assigned until after Christmas break. Harry noticed that the common room had already been returned to its usual size, and all remnants of the party were gone.

He settled into a chair next to his friend and began working on his homework as well. He really needed to finish his essay on the close relationship of Charms and Healing magic. Having worked so often recently, using spells he had not known were so draining, Harry had an idea of what direction his essay would take. Charms, like Healing spells, drew upon a wizard or witch's innate magical strength. Power wasn't leached away, but a stronger wizard could perform both types of magic either for longer, or to do more powerful spells.

After an hour of writing frantically (he had a great idea and was afraid to lose them if he didn't write them down quickly), Harry put his quill down, massaging his hand where it had begun cramping. Hermione was no longer taking notes, but was still reading from a truly massive tome that Harry had seen arrive—along with five boxes of smaller, though still lengthy, books.

She smiled as she looked up at him. "I was wondering if you would ever take a break."

Harry grinned, seeming bashful at having been caught looking just as studious as the Hogwarts' Bookworm. "Yeah, well I actually do work now and then."

"Yes, well I'm starving and I've seen neither of our boyfriends yet this morning," Hermione said with a slight huff. "Though I'm not surprised with how much Ron drank last night. Did you know I refilled my glass seven times and barely had more than a sip?"

Harry blushed at her use of the term "boyfriend". He still wasn't used to being open about his feelings, and was still uncomfortable being known as The-Boy-Who-Likes-Boys, which he had been dubbed by the Daily Prophet. At that moment, Ginny burst through the entrance door and practically skipped her way over to Harry and Hermione.

"What's put you in such a good mood?" Harry asked, thinking back for any day that Ginny had been this…bubbly in the morning.

"None of your business," she replied, earning a pout from Harry. "Don't look at me like that. You know I can't say no to you when you do that."

"Way to discourage him, Gin," Hermione said with a smirk. Harry just continued to use his pouty face, waiting for Ginny to break. It took about thirty-two seconds.

"Alright, alright!" she said with an exaggerated sigh. "I may have had an enjoyable night with a certain boy whom, before you even ask or try that stupid pout on me, I will not be naming anytime soon, per his request."

Both Harry and Hermione lit up at the prospect of Ginny finding a suitor, but both were crestfallen when they learned that they would not be informed of his name. It was all rather anticlimactic. Ginny went on.

"Hopefully soon, I can tell you who it is. But for now, he would prefer that it be kept secret, and speaking of boys, where are yours?"

Harry simply jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, in the general direction of the boys' dorms.

"Well, that won't do," the redhead said. "I'm starving and I fancy a picnic."

And then, without warning she sprung up from her chair and hurried up to find Ron and Draco. They could both hear Ron's tell-tale whinging—now here was the antithesis to morning person. Ron hated waking up before lunch.

"Harry!" Ginny yelled to accompany the 'thud thud thud' of her feet pounding against the wooden staircase. Said brunette looked back up from his book, unsure of what was so urgent that she would need to yell. His ears were still ringing from last night's loud music.

"Huh?" he asked smartly.

"You didn't tell me that Draco slept in bed with you last night!" she exclaimed.

Hermione gasped. "You didn't? I thought you wanted to go slow!"

"No, I didn't," he said, holding his hands aloft in a mock gesture of surrender. He needed to spill before they started in with the inquisition. "We literally just slept, both in clothes. I just didn't want him to leave last night, not after…" He trailed off, not meaning to bring up what he considered to be their first real kiss or any of the subsequent making out from the rest of the night.

"Not after…?" Hermione prompted. Ginny just sat up on her feet and nodded eagerly.

Harry cursed his own tongue and told the girls about his and Draco's first dance, which they had been watching, and about how they had ended up off the dance floor, kissing like the world was about to end. He told them about how Draco made him feel like there was no one else in the world but the two of them, and how it had been the most amazing feeling he'd had in his life.

"How nice to wake up, come downstairs and hear that the first topic of discussion is a listing of my best qualities," Draco said, startling Harry when he appeared right behind him, leaning over so that he spoke into Harry's ear, his hot breath tickling Harry delightfully. Before Harry could respond, Draco kissed him, slowly and deeply. The girls both froze, watching with mouths open, practically drooling at the sight of the two most eligible "bachelors" making out with each other.

When the kiss was ended, Harry kept his gaze on Draco's beautiful smile, eyes glazed with the brief but intense rush of arousal that had coursed through his veins. Both boys were out of breath, and Harry thought that the look suited Draco; smug and satisfied. The brunette finally remembered they weren't alone and it would be rude to keep staring at just Draco, thinking only about Draco.

"So," he began, turning his attention back to the girls. They were no longer frozen, and both had plastered innocent expressions onto their faces. Harry grinned, surprising himself when he felt no embarrassment at having been watched. "How did you get him to wake up in such a good mood? I might need to know this later in life."

Ginny giggled before answering. "I told him you were sleepwalking naked downstairs and that your integrity was on the line."

Draco scowled while Harry and Hermione both laughed. "And imagine my displeasure when I come downstairs to find you perfectly awake and clothed, simply chatting away like one of the girls," he said with a sniff of disdain.

"Oh hush, you," Harry said, swatting at Draco for his 'one of the girls' comment. Harry was certainly not a girl, something which Draco would probably learn very soon.

After a few more minutes of playful banter, during which Ron joined them, sleepily coming to stand by Hermione, they went outside. Ginny ran off to the kitchens to get them some breakfast while the others made the trek to the entrance hall. They ignored the smells coming from within the Great Hall, reminding themselves that breakfast was coming with Ginny.

Draco refused to walk too far, having "no intention of stomping all around the grounds just to have a bit of breakfast." So, they settled in the grass surrounding a large tree, only a few paces away from the front doors. Draco sat up against the tree, using the trunk to help with his posture.

'Leave it to Draco,' Harry thought, 'to keep up appearances even during a picnic.'

After what seemed like forever, if Ron was the measuring stick for patience, Ginny returned with a large basket floating behind her. She set it down and Hermione had to restrain Ron from tearing into the food.

"Stop acting like a hungry Hippogriff, _Ronald_," she said, and Ron pulled his hand away from the whicker. He knew better than to challenge Hermione when she said his name in that way.

Soon enough, Ginny had passed all the food out and they sat there eating and chatting to morning away. Harry fell asleep halfway through, head comfortably resting on Draco's lap. He wasn't aware of it, but the girls thought it was just the cutest thing, and even Draco couldn't hide his smile behind his patented Malfoy Mask.

**. . .**

"_Excellent, Bella," he said, swooping into the room like a great bat. _

"_My lord?" the crazy witch asked, unused to hearing praise out of the blue from Voldemort. _

"_It is excellent to see your dedication, your one-minded focus on the task I had given you," he said. Bellatrix began preening under his attentions and practically cooed when he ran one of his claws down her cheek. His sharp nails caught flesh and drew blood, but instead of wince like a regular person, Bellatrix looked even more enraptured. Voldemort leaned down and took a whiff of the free-flowing blood. A tongue then darted out and licked the dripping redness from her face._

_Harry, who had stood frozen thus far in the vision, was suddenly catapulted into motion as he lost his breakfast all over the floor of the library they were situated in. He had no desire to see Voldemort being affectionate, but the thing with the blood was just too much. After a moment, he noticed that his vomit faded from the floor, having never existed in this place in reality. He turned his attention back to the scene at hand and listened to the conversation happening in front of him._

"—_taken notice of your unwavering devotion, and I am pleased," Voldemort said. He reached out and grasped Bellatrix by the hand, and too Harry's unexpected surprise, threaded his fingers with hers. They were holding hands! Harry thought he might be going crazy, but he listened intently._

"_My lord, anything," Bellatrix said. "I would do anything for you."_

_Voldemort seemed supremely pleased by this. Of course, he would. He loved being worshipped and adored. _

"_You would, wouldn't you?" he said, clearly looking into her mind for her true answers. "Yes, I can see that you would. You are my most—no—only truly loyal servant. I would even go so far as to call you dear to me."_

_Harry gaped at this wizard, the most evil thing alive at one time. He was…declaring his feelings? Harry fought the urge to laugh. _

"_Oh, my lord!" she said, throwing herself into his arms with wild abandon. Had she been any other person on the face of the planet, she would be dead right then, but Voldemort allowed it. In fact, he embraced her, pulling her body tight to his. After a moment, she kissed his cheek, which he allowed though he did not return the gesture. Finally, he returned her to her seat where she wept silent tears of joy._

"_Now tell me, cara mia," Voldemort said ('and was that Italian?' Harry thought), "what you know about immortality?"_

_All of the color drained from Harry's face with the mention of that one word. Immortality had been Voldemort's true goal, aside from total world domination. From all accounts and knowledge, he had never shared that secret with anyone. Dumbledore, and even Harry Had been certain that Voldemort would prefer to be the only wizard alive with the knowledge of how to semi-permanently stave off death. But were they wrong? The next words would chill Harry to the bone._

"_I only know that you have achieved it, my lord," said Bellatrix._

"_Yes," he hissed. "And now I will help you to achieve greatness with me. To do so, I must have you by my side forever and always. Come."_

_And with that statement, the scene shifted. Suddenly they were in the dark, standing outside of an old, handsome house. Voldemort was explaining how a Horcrux could be made stronger with the death of someone magical as opposed to a mere muggle. He asked Bellatrix to produce the object she would house her soul fragment in. _

_From within her cloak, Bellatrix pulled out a bone-handled hairbrush. There was an elaborately carved B on the flat, onyx brush-head. _

"_Good, good," Voldemort said and his red eyes flashed. "Now, let us torture."_

_Harry watched as they blasted the front door off its hinge and entered the house. Suddenly, Harry was filled with horror. This was no entrance to a house. This was the back door to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley. He recognized it because of his summer spent doing his homework. Mr. Fortescue had brought him to the kitchen to show him how his ice cream was made._

_Voldemort followed Bellatrix up the stairs, presumably to the living quarters above the shop. Harry could hear the thumping of feet quickly running around above him, could hear the sounds of screaming coming from a woman and the slam of a door being shut. It didn't matter, of course. Seconds later and Bellatrix was blowing up this door, as well. _

_Harry watched in horror as a scene terribly similar to his own recollections of his parents' death played out before him. Bellatrix cast the Killing Curse at the elderly woman huddled in the corner and she fell to the floor, instantly dead. Mr. Fortescue was weeping and put up no more of a fight after watching his wife die. _

_Bellatrix bound and gagged him and, casting a haphazard 'levicorpus', dragged the broken man behind her and down the stairs, leaving through the gaping hole that had once been a doorway. _

_Harry's vision blacked out for a moment, and he assumed they had apparated back from whence they came. _

"_Incendio," a high pitched hiss, Voldemort's, said. Suddenly a fire was roaring once again in the grate. Harry looked around and noticed they were no longer in the library, but in a small office of sorts. There was a large book open on the desk, revealing hundreds of names beside which was a description of their cause of death. He looked away after reading a few morbid words next to the first name, Jason Alexander—muggle. "Disemboweled, kept alive for three days. Screamed like music."_

_Voldemort exited the office, and Harry was compelled to follow. What he saw was awful. It had clearly been many days since the kidnapping Harry had witnessed. Fortescue hung from the ceiling by his neck, though he still appeared alive. Harry got closer, though he wanted nothing more than to run for his own sanity. He could see a gaping hole where the man's entrails should have been and suddenly knew what the 'strange rope' was that he had seen being used as a noose. He did not look back at it to confirm his suspicion._

_He looked at Fortescue's face. It was mottled with blood that had dripped down from the top of his head. His eyes were so inflamed that they had squeezed closed, a small mercy Harry imagined. His arms and legs were all broken, sometimes many times over. Shards of bone stuck out at gruesome angles, and blood flowed freely from the open wounds. Walking around the hanged man, Harry saw lashing on his back, festering with puss and gore. _

_He could look no further. Though he believed this man deserved a witness to the unspeakable crimes committed against him, Harry could not look at the disgusting mess the once handsome man had become._

"_Bella," Voldemort cooed. From the shadows, the witch appeared, covered from head to toe in dried, crusted blood. "It is time. Have you kept the vessel close at all times?"_

"_Yes, my lord," she said._

"_Wonderful. Do it as I taught you."_

_Bellatrix began to pray, hissing out words that must have been Parseltongue since Harry could understand._

"_I speak the power of the black lords." She clutched the hairbrush to her bosom._

"_I invoke their all-encompassing power." She picked up a blood-encrusted dagger from the floor._

"_I sacrifice of myself." She cut open her wrist, allowing blood to flow._

"_I sacrifice another." She cut open a new wound on Fortescue. _

"_I perform the profane ritual and welcome thy judgment."_

_The dagger dropped to the floor, replaced by Bellatrix's wand. As soon as her wand was secured in her palm, a circle of runes Harry had not noticed began to glow, then spark, and finally burst into flames. _

_She pointed her wand at her human sacrifice. "Deripio vita!" she screamed in Latin._

_Harry suddenly saw two Fortescues. On top of the now limp and dead man was a hazy superimposition of the man's life force. It too glowed bright before sparking and bursting into flames. Mere seconds passed and then both the spirit and body of Florean Fortescue were gone, and Harry feared that his soul had been eradicated, never to cross the astral plane and become a new life. _

_Bellatrix moved to the center of the fire-circle and lay on her back. She held her wand aloft and pointed it back at herself. In her left hand was the bone-handled hairbrush, still clasped tightly to her breasts. She spoke slowly, voice barely above a whisper, though Harry heard every syllable._

"_Mei animus postulo. In vas concludo!"_

_For a long second, nothing happened. Then the hairbrush was ripped from Bellatrix's hand by some invisible force. It hovered over her, caught ablaze by the fire-circle that was glowing brighter and hotter. Suddenly Bellatrix let out a long, painful groan and her body was floated off of the ground._

_She hovered about three feet above the ground and her pained noises were growing louder. Her body snapped in two, and the sounds of her spine being broken echoed off of the stone walls. Then her stomach split open and a blackness seeped out of the gash, filling the entire circle and extinguishing the flames. The hairbrush rose higher and higher, escaping the suffocating darkness. When there was no more of the black cloud pouring forth from her stomach, Bellatrix's body straightened out again, the bones cracking and snapping back into place, and she fell to the floor, a limp piece of flesh. _

_Suddenly, the flaming brush fell from its high spot, plunging into the column of darkness. The flame disappeared, and the hairbrush began to glow again, red and orange and yellow, like the fire now burned within. _

_Suddenly there was a great sucking sound, and all of the air rushed toward the circle, leaving both Harry and Voldemort breathless, choking on their own tongues. But as soon as the room was an airless vacuum, the hairbrush sucked up the black cloud of Bellatrix's soul and the chamber's oxygen rushed back out to fill the space. _

_Voldemort let out a triumphant cackle and walked over to where Bellatrix was laying sprawled out on the ground. He pointed his wand with a muttered "ennervate" and she awoke, looking around with the foggy expression of one who was waking to an unfamiliar location._

_Her confusion soon cleared, though, and she looked around her with a grin. With a proud look, she raised the bone-handled brush from where it had fallen beside her. _

"_Most excellent," Voldemort said, reaching for Bellatrix's hand and pulling her gently to her feet. His eyes were filled with an unhinged sort of fondness that made Harry shiver. "We must now begin our quest."_

**. . .**

* * *

"HARRY! Dammit Potter, wake up!" Draco was shouting through his sobs, holding the unconscious Harry in his arms. Nothing had worked to revive him; not magic, not cold water, and not even a slap to the face. Draco and the others had been forced to watch Harry lay there, prone to whatever nightmare had taken him. They'd endured his seizing, watched as he vomited up his breakfast, and listened to his repetitive "nononononononono" for over an hour.

Ginny, with a terrified shriek, had ordered Ron to go and get McGonagall and Draco heard Hermione warn him that she was coming this way quickly. He didn't care though, as all of his attention was on the stricken boy in his lap. Harry had been totally limp for the last couple of minutes, but he was still breathing. Draco kept murmuring to him and shaking him, begging him to awaken.

The Headmistress was only a few feet away when Harry's body tensed and he sat up suddenly, eyes flying open in terror. Draco scrambled to get up and hold the boy, placing his arms around his shoulders. Harry was shaking, but the wretched motions slowed as he looked around and took in his surroundings. The blonde placed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said loudly. Harry started and her expression softened. With a softer tone, she continued speaking. "Harry, what happened?"

With a wide-eyed, haunted stare, Harry turned to her. "I know what happened to Florean Fortescue. And Bellatrix Lestrange had a Horcrux."

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End Chapter 7  
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_A/N: For those of you who read everything, which I'm sure is most—thanks! Hopefully it wasn't too gross or off-putting. I'd love to know what your thoughts are, as there will be some similar scenes in later chapters. It'd be great to know if it was too much, not enough, just right…_

_And for those of you who chose to skip the torture, here's a recap of important events: Bella and Voldie go and grab Florean Fortescue, the ice cream guy. Bella tortures him and kills him, using a ritual to create her Horcrux. So there you go._

_Oh, and I know a lot of people think that Voldie can create a Horcrux just by the killing alone and, I don't know, thinking really hard about ripping his soul into pieces… But I think it must require a little more than that, or anyone could do it. So I made up a ritual…_

_Please review. When it comes to reviews, I'm like a fat kid with cake._


	8. Explanations

**Disclaimer:** Yep. I'm totally J.K, masquerading as a 25 y/o man on a fanfic website…

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

_A/N: Hey everyone who is still reading this story. First let me apologize for the hideous wait period since the last posting, especially those of you who I sorta-promised another chapter before the holidays… Life got very hectic, between my state job, and my music job. I won't go into specifics, but as a professional musician, the holidays are crazy, especially when you're premiering your own compositions! On top of that, I didn't have my computer with me while I traveled. Anyway, the break is over, and here we are. This chapter isn't all that long, only around 2,000 words, but I'm hoping it will tide you over until chapter 9 which will be out at the beginning of next week. More at the end of the chapter._

**Chapter 8: Explanations**

No one uttered a word as their group headed towards the Headmistress' office. Harry was bone-white, the hand gripping Draco's arm occasionally trembling with the after-effects of his Dream-Vision seizure. The two of them were at the back of the group and, from their vantage point, were able to observe the others, though Draco was really the one doing the observing. Harry seemed to have turned inward on himself for the time being and Draco let him be.

Draco noticed that Ginny was still shaking, her sobs having gone silent. Though she had gotten over her schoolgirl crush on Harry, she still cared for him deeply, perhaps more deeply than some of her brothers, not that Draco was aware of that fact. He did, however, know that she considered Harry her flesh and blood which was all that mattered. Headmistress McGonagall was holding her close to her side as they walked slowly down the deserted hall. Everyone else was at breakfast still. Hermione and Ron were leaning on each other, unfortunately more than familiar with Harry's 'episodes'.

McGonagall opened the entryway to her office with a complicated series of taps on the stone gargoyle guarding the spiral staircase. After a brief moment during which the statue scanned the identities of each of those present, it leapt to the side, permitting them entrance. Once everyone was inside and the door was closed, the Headmistress cast an impressive series of locking, silencing, and warding charms before finally breaking the silence.

"Mr. Potter," she said, voice full of concern. "Though I know it will be difficult, would you mind sharing the contents of your most recent vision?"

Draco felt Harry stiffen at his side, before relaxing again with a barely audible sigh; a sigh of defeat. The brunette sat up straighter and Draco could practically feel the gears turning in his head as he came to a decision about exactly how much to tell. The blonde didn't know exactly why, but he knew that this news was grave in its importance.

Finally, Harry opened his mouth to speak, everyone else in the room leaning forward in anticipation. "Professor McGonagall—"

"Please, you may call me Minerva when we are in the privacy of my office. You have most undoubtedly earned that right."

"Thanks," Harry said with a small smile. It lasted only a moment though before an look of intense dismay banished it away. "First of all, do you know what a Horcrux is?"

Hermione and Ron, though they had heard his initial pronouncement after he had awoken from his Vision, blanched as if their worst fears had been confirmed. Draco and Ginny were both in the dark as to what was so bad about a 'Horcrux'.

"I am aware that Albus mentioned something about a Horcrux being the key to bringing Voldemort down and that he was sending you on a mission to take care of it," the Headmistress said.

Harry looked at her mildly curious expression before looking around the room. Draco noticed a subtle nod from Hermione when Harry met her eyes. What did he need approval to say outloud?

"What I'm about to tell you is incredibly dangerous," he said, a previously absent fervor entering his eyes and voice. "Professor Dumbledore told me to keep this information very secret because even the knowledge of this puts your very life in danger. There are many out there who would literally kill to gain this knowledge." Again, he paused. Harry gazed around the room at his friends and comrades in arms, ensuring that they knew just how serious he was being. Even Ron and Hermione gave him nods of assurance that they were taking him seriously.

"Horcruxes are the pinnacle of evil, dark magic. They are more than merely dark, they are truly **Dark**." He said this last bit giving the proper emphasis to the distinction he was making.

McGonagall gasped at this pronouncement, knowing how grave a difference there was between what the Ministry classified as 'dark magic' and what was truly Dark Magick. This type of magic was ancient, before the time of Merlin. It was this type of magic that was addicting, drawing a witch or wizard down into insanity.

Draco knew of this distinction as well and was horrified that Harry had had to go up against a madman who had done more than merely dabble with the Dark Arts. He was drawn out of his shock when Harry continued speaking.

"A Horcrux is an object—any object—which holds a piece of a witch or wizard's soul, thus making that person somewhat immortal. Should their body be killed, a part of their soul will continue to endure, giving them a path back to mortality. Voldemort had seven of these." He said this flatly, delivering this most terrible information like he was Professor Binns droning on about the Goblin wars.

Draco felt sick. Voldemort had split his soul seven times? What madness would drive anyone to split their soul into many tiny pieces? Clearly, the Dark Lord had been afraid of death. And Harry had been the one to take him down!

"And now, you're saying that Bellatrix has one?" McGonagall asked, looking more shaken than she had since Dumbledore's death.

Harry simply nodded, looking directly into her eyes, impressing upon her the seriousness of this knowledge. Draco was the one to grab onto Harry's arm this time. He had always feared his Aunt Bellatrix; always known her madness was dangerous. His mother had told him the same. That she might be alive again, to spread terror and death just like the 'old days'—it was truly terrifying.

"What do we do," Draco asked, receiving the attention of everyone. He was the first to speak aside from Harry and the Headmistress. To his surprise, Ginny was the one who answered.

"We find it and we destroy it. Then we destroy that bitch once and for all!" she exclaimed, with all the fiery passion that Molly Weasley had shown when she had defended her daughter, blasting Bellatrix into a thousand pieces. Her gaze bore into Harry, and it held such heat that Draco could feel it a seat away. McGonagall even forgot to reprimand her for her use of language.

"Yes," was Harry's calm answer. "We do."

After that, they all left the Headmistress' office, going back to the East Tower to talk further.

* * *

Harry sat in his new favorite chair nearest to the fire and with a great view out the window. He took comfort in the familiarity of this scene, grateful for the moment of peace during what had become a very trying morning. He wasn't sure which class they were currently missing, but no one brought it up, including Hermione. That showed just how seriously she took his revelation.

"Start at the beginning," Draco prompted, correctly guessing at Harry's hesitation to begin. He nodded, grabbing for the blonde's hand. Once their fingers were fully entwined and held securely in his lap, Harry told them of his vision.

He recounted how Bellatrix and Voldemort took Fortescue from his shop, filling in unanswered questions from the war. Then he told them what condition he next saw the man in, hanging from the ceiling by his own innards. Hermione and Ginny both ran to the loo, sicking up after hearing his description of the torture. Ron and Draco remained in their seats, though both looked green in the face. Harry had to remove his hand from Draco's vice-like grip.

Once the girls returned, looking much better, Harry continued his story. He left out the incantations used in the process to craft a Horcrux, deciding that the total knowledge of how to create these things remain and die with him. But he described the ritual and how he was feared that Fortescue's soul would never be reborn. They all sat in silence for a moment, honoring his memory. Harry had known him the best, known of his love for History and benefited from him immense well of knowledge. In fact, Harry considered Florean one of his few friends.

But Draco, Ron, and Ginny had known him longer. Before the second war, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour had been a steady part of their lives since birth. The establishment was one of the original shops in Diagon Alley. Fate had not been kind to this man who had never done anything other than bring happiness to hundreds of children over the years. But Harry didn't blame fate. He blamed Tom Riddle and Bellatrix LeStrange.

After the moment passed, Harry continued his tale. He finished by explaining how the soul-shard was ripped from Bellatrix and encased in the brush. How all the air was sucked out from the room.

"Wait," Hermione said, speaking for the first time in quite a while. (Knowing what she knew about Harry having been a Horcrux, and actually dying to destroy it, she was not taking the possible existence of another Horcrux very well.) "Are you saying that you were affected by the magic, and unable to breathe within the Dream—Vision?"

"Uh…" Harry uttered, not having given that fact any thought, what with the other more important things going on at the time. "Yeah, I guess I was."

"Harry!" she exclaimed, surprising everyone with the ferocity of her voice. "Don't you know what this might mean?"

Harry looked back at her and shook his head, confused as to what could be so bad.

"You could be in serious danger when you are having those Visions!" Hermione shouted again. "Harry, we have no idea what else you might See in your dreams, and what if next time, whatever happens isn't just a short moment of no oxygen? What if something explodes or Fiendfyre rages in the room you're brought to?" She was practically hyperventilating now.

Harry didn't know what to say to this discovery. He knew Hermione was right, she always was. He simply stared at her, watching Ron comfort her, muttering soothing words into her ear. Ginny stood from her seat and sat on the arm of Harry's chair, quietly placing her hand on his shoulder. Draco grasped his hand again, this time pulling it into his own lap and rubbing soothing circles on his palm.

After a few minutes of awkward silence during which Hermione collected herself, she finally spoke again, much calmer now.

"I don't mean to be an alarmist, Harry," she said. "I simply think you need to be warned of what the possible consequences of your Dreams might be. I know that nothing we do will stop these Dream-Visions, because fate doesn't care what we want. You've been given a gift that could also be a curse. I just worry about you, and I want you to know the risks so you'll be careful."

Harry was touched, and for the first time since he'd been seized by the Vision, he relaxed and let a true smile appear on his face.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, voice full to the brim with emotions. He had the best friends—no—family anyone could ever ask for. He knew that life was about to get dangerous again. The knowledge that they possessed could not be taken to the authorities since its source, Harry's Dream-Visions, would never be taken seriously. Despite all of the times that Harry had been proved right, and the new policies that were slowly turning the Ministry away from their corrupt ways, they would always be bullish, and unwilling to consider all of their options.

Harry was happy that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been voted Minister; the former-Auror was truly doing his level best to bring honor back to the position of Minister and to the British Ministry of Magic in general. Their reputation had taken quite a hit during Fudge's tenure, and particularly due to their mishandling of the Voldemort issue and ensuing war.

So no, they would be getting no help from the Ministry, though surely Kingsley would provide whatever help he could personally. Harry and his friends would be handling this all on their own. Luckily, Bellatrix was nowhere near the foe Voldemort had been and Harry was not prophesied to be the only person who could bring her down. Of course, they had to stop her before she gained Voldemort's power.

"Before we do anything else, we need to know if Bellatrix LeStrange is really still alive," Harry said.

"I think I know how we can do that," Draco said. Once he had everyone's attention, he continued speaking. "My mother is still in possession of The Black Book."

"What's The Black Book?" Ron asked.

"It's a record of every Black family member who ever lived. It self-updates, showing pertinent information while a person is still alive, and includes an Historical Record of all of the departed, including Certificates of Death."

Everyone nodded at this suggestion, knowing that it was worthless to plan anything further until they knew whether the Horcrux had successfully saved Bellatrix's life.

"Plus," Draco said nervously, suddenly appearing a bit more flushed than before. "I wanted to introduce you to my mother properly, as my intended."

Harry simply gaped at his pronouncement, while the other three in their small group reacted more verbally. Hermione with an elated, "That's wonderful!" and Ron with a, "Blimey…"

Ginny, however, was exuberant in her excitement. She squealed before practically smothering Harry in a hug very reminiscent of her mother.

Harry noticed none of this. He was still staring into Draco's eyes, eyes that were currently glowing with sincerity, every bit of the molten silver expressing how genuinely Draco meant what he said. Harry felt his breath leave him for the second time that day, though this time it was far more pleasant.

"If you'll have me, that is," Draco said after an awkward silence (at least to him) had descended.

Finally, Harry seemed to be released from his stupor and he launched himself into Draco's arms, surprising the blonde clearly, but getting the desired reaction as he laughed heartily.

"I love you," Harry whispered in his ear, suddenly knowing how true his words were.

Draco squeezed him tighter, kissing him before responding as quietly. "I love you, too, Harry."

End Chapter 8  
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_A/N: Again, I'm sorry for the delay. My old computer was a POS, and I just got a new one. So yeah. This was more of a short interlude. Let me ask you guys, would you prefer shorter chapters and faster updates, or longer chapters and fewer updates? I will leave this decision up to you. This chapter is a good judge of what I mean by a 'shorter' chapter. Also, I hope you're looking forward to chapter 9 which is tentatively called, "Tea with Narcissa". Please review and let me know what you think. Do you have any questions, comments, suggestions? Please let me know, because I can only get better if I know what needs work. After all, I like my writing :P _


	9. A Room with a View

**Disclaimer:** Yep. I'm totally J.K, masquerading as a 25 y/o man on a fanfic website…

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

_A/N: So, it seems that most people prefer faster updates, which doesn't surprise me. On the flip side, others have expressed their preference for long chapters. So, here you are! Chapter 9, which is around 4,800 words, posted in just a few days. Being a wordy author, I don't think any of you need to worry about the chapters becoming too short. I simply can't write a scene without it being long—You may surmise that I am terrible at drabbles! I do hope that I can keep this pace up, and of course, lots of reviews helps! Hehe, more at the end._

**Chapter 9: A Room with a View**

Harry was falling more in love with the Healing Arts with each day. His class had recently learned how to reset bones (as well as break them!), and during the process, Harry learned why Lockhart should never have attempted it. They were all surprised to learn that a witch or wizard's integrity went a long way in determining the strength and viability of their healing spells.

For instance, Lockhart, who built his career on lies and stolen glory would never be able to heal even a nosebleed, and someone as evil as Voldemort would most likely do more harm than good. Interestingly enough, one didn't have to be a good person, per se; one simply had to be honest in what they did. So someone who was cruel but honest about it may have success if their magical talents lay in the Healing Arts. Harry finally understood why the theory behind certain magicks could be so important to know.

His relationship with Draco was still going well, too. Since Halloween, they had come to an agreement to spend a few nights a week sleeping apart, mostly to spend time studying or with their individual friends. Draco may be getting along with Ron, but it was better if they didn't have to spend too much time together at one time. The rest of the time, they slept in each other's bed. Harry recalled their explorations of each other, starting two weeks ago, the day Harry had had his Vision.

"Harry," Draco said quietly as they walked up the stairs to their rooms. "Stay with me again tonight?"

It had been a very hard day, dealing with the after-effects of Harry's 'gift'. Their entire group was emotionally drained, even though they had done a good job of pretending nothing was wrong. The idea that and evil Death Eater was still out there and trying to resurrect her lord was not easy to forget.

Harry was afraid that he might do something he would regret if they went to bed together while in such a heightened emotional state. But he really didn't want to be alone, and wanted Draco's reassuring presence by his side that night. Plus, the blond seemed so hopeful, and in that moment he looked so cute, Harry had been unable to say no. Draco's returned smile was all the evidence he needed to know that he'd made the right decision. He was falling further in love with the blond, and neither of them seemed upset with the speed at which they were moving. Harry thought things were speeding right along, and Draco thought they were the slowest ever. But neither boy minded. They were happy together, and they naturally worked hard to make each other even happier.

Once in Draco's room, they began to disrobe, removing first their school robes and then the basic uniform pieces. Finally, they turned away from each other before slipping their trousers off and slipping into more comfortable pajama bottoms. Harry was feeling daring, so he forewent his shirt, hoping to feel Draco's skin on his again.

Draco dimmed the lights as they climbed into bed, each settling exactly on their side of the bed. All of the other nights, they had managed without this awkwardness, coming together to cuddle as they drifted off to sleep, talking softly and kissing until they couldn't keep their eyes open any longer. Of course, they'd never changed in front of each other before, and they'd never both gotten in bed shirtless either. In fact, Harry had only gotten small glimpses of Draco's pale flesh, and he was hoping to see more tonight.

There were maybe four inches separating the two of them, but to Harry, it might as well have been a mile, for he had no idea how to breach the space and initiate contact in a way that would be intimate and pleasurable without seeming too pushy or sexually driven. Was there a way to initiate such contact?

He noticed that Draco's breathing was evening out and becoming shallower as the minutes ticked by. Harry was afraid he would lose his chance at anything tonight if he didn't act soon.

Suddenly, Draco turned onto his side, facing away from Harry. However, the motion brought his exposed back much closer to where Harry's hand lay, down by his side. He could feel the heat radiating from the blond laying now less than an inch away from him. If only he could shift his arm _just _a bit…There!

After several excruciatingly slow seconds of moving his hand as slowly as he possibly could, his fingertips came into contact with the heated skin just above the waistline. Feeling bold, Harry pressed the rest of the back of his hand against Draco. He was so warm, and Harry could tell his skin was smooth, save for a few tell-tale scars—reminders of the war.

He was debating the merits of turning his hand over and placing his palm on the blond's back. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he was unprepared for Draco to turn back around. As such he didn't move his hand and soon found a distinctive hardness pressing against it through a thin layer of silk.

Harry froze, unsure of what to do now. Had he been caught? Or was Draco still asleep? Did he even have to worry? He knew Draco wanted more and had since they had first begun dating. Hell, the first couple of times they had had the chance, they'd gotten off on each other. Well, Harry had gotten off twice, Draco only the one time. But Draco had already had his hands down Harry's trouser AND pants, so it was only fair that Harry get the same experience.

Suddenly filled with confidence, Harry boldly turned his hand the other way so instead of merely pressing against Draco's erection, he was cupping it. He heard Draco's gasp, but he dared not meet his eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze focused on the movements of his hand beneath the sheets. From his new angle, he could easily stroke Draco's hard length, so he did just that.

For a few moments, he was too tentative to move beyond the protective layer of clothing, but summoning his Gryffindor courage, he plunged his hand into Draco's pajamas, quickly grasping his prize. Finally, Draco moaned aloud and Harry felt ready enough to look at him. When he did, Draco's desire-filled eyes met his gaze and he leaned in to capture his mouth, all the while bucking into Harry's rapidly moving hand.

Making use of his free hands, Draco threw the covers off of them, exposing what was going on underneath, though there was no one in the room with any doubts. The blond also pulled his trousers down, only interrupting Harry for a moment while the pesky and restraining waistband was pulled over his knob. Harry was finally able to see what he had been wanting; an unrestricted view of the stiff length nestled amongst blond curls, grasped in his own callused hand.

Upon seeing it, Harry wanted more. Before Draco could react, the brunett had moved down the bed and swallowed Draco to the hilt. Now, Draco knew Harry was a virgin and had never done anything of this sort before, so he was in no way prepared for Harry to be able to fit his entire length (which was considerable) into his mouth on his first try.

Despite his attempts to stop it, Draco soon found himself cumming in Harry's eager mouth. His lover wasn't able to swallow everything he had to offer, but he performed valiantly, even sticking his tongue out to lap up some of what he had missed.

Not to be outdone, Draco soon had Harry on his back and divested of any clothing. He took things more calmly, teasing Harry with experimental flicks and swirls of the tongue along his body. Harry was keening in pleasure, sitting on the edge despite the fact that Draco had yet to touch him in any way substantial.

When he finally did, it was like heaven. Draco's mouth was velvety smooth and searing hot. It felt so good on his prick that he was instantly crying out, being louder than he had expected, therefore alerting those sleeping nearby of what was happening in this particular room. Both boys were unaware of this fact though as Draco struggled to fit Harry's massive size in his mouth. He was a potent combination of long and thick that really had Draco excited about future possibilities.

Draco was lucky that this was Harry's first experience with oral sex because his jaw was quickly becoming sore. Harry did not last long after having a mouth around him. Harry shot without warning, unless you counted the previous five minutes of moaning and cursing in pleasure a warning. Draco knew from the first shot that he was outmatched, and so he pulled back and watched Harry's release as it happened. It was glorious and Harry was sure that at some point during it, he'd passed out due to lack of blood flow.

After saying good night with a sloppy kiss, both boys fell asleep as they were; messy, completely naked, and exposed, neither having had the energy to get up and retrieve the covers from where they had fallen. If only they had known, they would have pulled the covers up or at least put their clothing back on…

-0-

Ginny was an early riser. One had to be with brothers like Fred and George. Well, George… Anyway, due to her being awake so early, she was able to meet up with her secret rendezvous, who everyone knew was Blaise. And it was from Blaise that she heard about the moaning and screaming coming from the room next door in the middle of the night.

Her eyes lit up with amusement. 'Sounds like Harry got some,' she thought, a wicked idea forming. She would go and give them their wake-up call; surely everyone delighted in being woken to an inquisition about the previous night's sexual activities. Her idea, while brilliant, couldn't have been planned on a worse morning. She grabbed Blaise's hand and dragged him along with her.

-0-

Draco awoke to a shrill voice that was quickly morphing from a taunt into a shriek. His eyes snapped open and he sat upright, making himself dizzy from the quick ascension. He belatedly realized that he was stark naked and speckled with Harry's dried emissions from the night before.

As he was realizing this, Harry was finally roused from his own sleep by Draco's cry of embarrassment. Harry slammed his hand down over his crotch in an attempt to hide his morning…issue. "Fuck!" he exclaimed when his aim proved poor and his hand slammed much harder than anticipated into his rapidly deflating morning erection.

Blaise seemed to be the only one not losing his head, having already seen Draco's body and truly appreciating the sight that Harry offered. Taking his time, he levitated the bed linens off of the floor and covered the two blushing beauties. Draco pierced him with a glare when he noticed just where Blaise's eyes had been focused, not that he could blame him. Harry looked amazing naked.

"Would either of you like to explain just what possessed you to come barging into my private, not to mention warded, bedroom?" Draco asked as soon as he found his voice.

Ginny narrowed her eyes in a mock-glare. "We were just coming in to let you know how thoroughly UN-warded your room was all night long," she said, a smugness in her tone as she saw Draco and Harry both pale.

Harry snapped his head toward Draco. "You didn't place locking and silencing charms last night?" His voice was filled with a mild form of panic.

"I thought you took care of it," Draco answered back defensively. He honestly hadn't thought about it last night; he was too wrapped up in watching Harry undress for such trivialities.

"It's your room," Harry pleaded. "I wouldn't impose and go as far as placing my own wards in your room."

Draco heaved a heavy sigh, feeling defeated. He raised his eyes to the two not-so-secret lovers standing by his still open door.

"Close the door, will you," he near-commanded, pleased when Blaise simply waved his wand and the door swung shut, with a quiet click of the lock. "Now please, please tell me neither of you had a camera on you."

Blaise smirk but nodded his head. Ginny gave her own smirk but then ruined it by opening her mouth.

"No," she said. "But we certainly got an eyeful. Merlin, Harry!"

Harry blushed scarlet and hid his face in his pillow.

"Of course, let's not forget the dried—" Blaise began before Draco interrupted him.

"OUT!"

The two wisely fled upon seeing Harry summon both their wands to his outstretched hand.

-0-

After suffering days of knowing glances from the other 8th Years plus countless thinly veiled remarks from Ginny, Harry was glad the weekend had come for he and Draco to visit Malfoy manor.

Professor McGonagall arranged a portkey for them to use for their travels, much to Harry's chagrin. Being unable to apparate on or off of both Hogwarts' and Malfoy Manor's grounds, he would much rather have traveled by floo, and only two fireplaces connected to the floo network anymore, the Hospital Wing—for emergencies only; it also connected to St. Mungo's only—and the Headmistress' office. Neither would be able to access the floos of Malfoy Manor.

Holding onto the small clay disk hanging from a simple silver chain, Harry prepared his stomach for the unpleasant journey that would begin in…12 seconds. Draco seemed to find his ill-disguised dread to be amusing. He, of course, thought it was only because Harry hated this mode of travel.

He was nervous, to tell the truth. He had forgiven Draco, Mrs. Malfoy and even Lucius for their crimes (though not really Lucius. However, Draco didn't choose his parents, and he'd promised that Harry would never have to deal with the man.). He was uncomfortable, however, with the idea of returning to Malfoy Manor. His friends had been tortured there, Harry had almost been turned over to Voldemort—again—there, and one of Harry's dearest friends, Dobby, had died there. Harry wasn't sure how well he was going to react to being in that building again.

He would find out soon, as the tell-tale pull behind his belly button caught him almost off guard, so caught up in his worry was Harry. They appeared, seconds later, on the front drive of Malfoy Manor, about 50 yards from the imposing front entrance. Harry stared up from his position on the ground—for, true to form, he had been unable to remain upright upon landing—at the large building looming ahead.

Malfoy Manor was, in a word, massive. There were at least 30 windows facing out and the front doors were at least 12 feet tall. Draco picked Harry up from where he was still sprawled, and they walked up the drive to the house, Draco towing his levitated trunk behind him. They had chosen to pack all of their things in the one trunk, only planning on being here for one night (Draco had still insisted they bring six outfits!).

The doors swung inward as soon as Draco stepped foot on the front step. When they were fully open, Harry's jaw dropped at the austerity of the Entrance Hall. Hanging from the vaulted ceiling were two massive chandeliers, made of gold and dangling crystal. The floor was a polished marble; inlaid with a sparkling green mineral that Harry thought might have been emerald. There was a double staircase that joined at the top, leading to the East and West wings of the Manor.

Harry goggled at his surrounding, wondering how he had not noticed the beauty of this place. Surely things had not been this bright when he was last here. Draco, correctly interpreting his wide-eyed look, explained that after the Dark Lord's habitation (which his mother had been fiercely against, though her opinion was dismissed), his mother had demanded a total renovation of the entire Malfoy Manor. She had rid the old home of any and all dark artifacts and redecorated everything in a much brighter fashion, though it was perfectly tasteful and nothing could be called gaudy.

With the extensive changes made since his last visit, Harry felt slightly more comfortable being here. It did not bring back all of the bad memories of his brief captivity, so he was deciding to give the place a chance. With a snap of his fingers, Draco summoned one of the Malfoy House Elves—"Glibby is so happy to be meeting the great wizard Harry Potter, sir!" he had squeaked—and ditched their outer robes and trunk.

While dragging Harry up the stairs to show him where his rooms were located—Rooms, plural?—Draco detailed their schedule for the weekend. Harry now understood why they had packed so many different robes. Today, they would settle their things in Draco's bedroom, tour the grounds, and then meet Draco's mother in the garden for tea and sandwiches. After their light lunch, they would move to his mother's sitting room for more tea. During this time, Draco informed him, Harry would be introduced as an official boyfriend and they would be able to gauge her likely response to finding that Draco had proposed.

If all went well, which Draco assured Harry it would, they would reveal the true nature of their relationship during the formal dinner. It was apparently a Malfoy tradition to discuss important business between the final two courses. According to the blond, being full but still having a delicious pudding to look forward to made big news easier to stomach, forgiving Draco's pun.

As they were walking, mostly in silence now though Draco would occasionally point out one of the priceless treasures they had kept that he actually liked, they passed a large window that offered a beautiful view of the back gardens. Harry stopped walking and just stared at the sprawling grounds filled with innumerable species of flowers, bushes, and trees. Once again, Harry found himself gawking at his surroundings, made breathless by the sheer beauty of the acreage that stretched out before him.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Draco said as he walked up behind Harry, placing his chin onto Harry's shoulder. Harry merely nodded, still enraptured by the sight before him. "This portion of the gardens is protected by Heating and Preservation Charms for tropical and other plants that can't survive the British winters."

Harry let himself be dragged further down the hallway, stopping finally before a set of ivory double doors. It took him a second glance to realize that they weren't actually double doors, but one very large door that seemed familiar in its construction. Draco placed his palm on the inlaid-gold Malfoy Crest and the door melted away, confirming Harry's suspicion that they were identical to the doors he'd seen at Gringotts.

"Was Malfoy Manor constructed by Goblins, perhaps?" he asked.

"Very astute observation, Harry," the blond said with a smirk. "Of course you would be familiar with this type of magic, having one of the oldest vaults in Gringotts."

"How can I have one of the oldest vaults?" Harry asked. "I know that my vault isn't even close to the lowest level of Gringotts. I mean, I don't even have to pass by the dragons."

"I did say _one _of the oldest," Draco elaborated. "Some of the older families, such as the Blacks, Malfoys, Crabbes, Goyles, Peverells, and others were the first customers after Gringotts was built in the 7th Century."

Harry thought about that as he and Draco finally entered into the grand room that had been revealed when the door melted away. His thoughts were interrupted, yet again, by the sight he was greeted with. Draco traveled quickly through the first room which must have been just a sitting room, as it held a few chairs with small tables between them, as well as a small fireplace on one wall.

There were three doors to choose from, and Harry followed the blond through the door to the left. This led to his bedroom which was, in Harry's opinion, fit to house a king. Dominating the room was a huge bed, larger than any Harry had seen before. It had deep green pillows, at least ten of them, all stacked along the headboard. Silver curtains hung around, offering privacy if they were pulled shut. Also in the room was a small desk with an ornate chair in front of it. Next to that was as bookshelf that was filled with old textbooks as well as other books Draco had read and deigned worthy to remain iin his room.

The walls were simple, and in fact offered the only clue that this bedroom belonged to a young man. On the light gray walls were a collection of Quidditch posters, mostly featuring the Falmouth Falcons. And was the farthest poster…?

"Draco," he said, stopping the blond from stepping through the door he had just opened. "Is that a picture of me?"

-0-

The blond's pale face turned beet red when he saw where Harry's eyes were focused. He thought he'd told his personal House Elf, Twinky, to take that down before he arrived.

"Yes, well I thought you'd be going pro in Quidditch and I thought it a worthwhile investment to…" Draco trailed off when Harry pierced him with a look that showed just how much he believed that reason. He sighed and figured that the truth was just as good a reason.

"I told you I was always obsessed with you," he said softly, looking away in embarrassment. While he was looking away, Harry walked up to him and encircled him with a hug.

"I think it's cute," he said before letting the whole thing drop, to Draco's relief. He had never meant to prove just how infatuated he had always been with the raven-haired wizard. Now he just needed to be sure that he hid his collection of "The Boy-Who-Lived Goes to:" children's books. He had the whole set, all 49 books. As far as he knew, Harry had no idea these books existed and no one had ever had the nerve to tell him. Deena Skeeter (Rita's younger, less obnoxious sister) had made a killing by writing the series.

Vowing to keep his collection a secret, Draco showed Harry his attached bathroom suite and very, very large closet before beginning the tour of Malfoy Manor. He had looked forward to making a good impression on Harry with this visit, intending to show him that he was worth spending a long life together. So far he seemed to be doing a good job.

-0-

"And finally, the gardens," Draco said, opening the french doors that led to the back gardens. Harry had spent his last half an hour with his mouth hanging open, marveling at the beauty of the ancestral Malfoy home. Draco's mother was a genius, and the house showed her extremely high level of taste. Every room was more lovely that the last, and despite his fears, he was feeling quite comfortable here. Nothing was so extravagant as to make things seem cold or unwelcoming. On the contrary, the finely appointed rooms seemed to invite you in, asking you to stay for a while.

But all the while, Harry had been looking forward to finally arriving at the gardens. They were elaborate, and he'd only caught a glimpse of the acres upon acres of flowers. So when Draco opened the doors and Harry's senses were flooded with sights and scents, he barely refrained from acting like a child and running to through the fields. As it was, he calmly walked down the stone steps and took a deep breath.

The railing on the steps was entwined with Honeysuckle, assaulting the senses before one had even taken a step with their lovely fragrance. He could see lilies, roses, amaryllis, daffodils, petunias, and countless other flowers that he didn't know the names of.

Draco grasped his hand and led him down a narrow path between the roses. They walked in silence, hand in hand, for nearly twenty minutes while they walked, winding in and out of the flowers. After a while, they came upon a row of hedges taller than even Hagrid. Draco pulled him along the hedges until they came to an opening. There was a wrought-iron archway, with more Honeysuckle weaving through the metal.

The archway opened to a new and very different setting. They were in an orchard, and Harry could smell the citrus in the air. Looking around, he saw oranges, lemons, limes, apples, peaches, and other less common fruits hanging from the hundreds of trees surrounding them. Again, Draco took the lead with Harry keeping up only because he was being dragged by the hand. Draco seemed to be in more of a hurry now.

They came upon a clearing and in the middle of this clearing was a small, but completely clear lake. It was quite deep and Harry could see all the way to the bottom. Colorful fish swam beneath the surface, seemingly unaware that there were multiple species that would never be found normally in nature. At either end of the lake were three golden hoops, standing at various heights, meaning this must double as the Quidditch pitch. Sitting on a bench near the water was Draco's mother, looking out serenely over the water.

Draco let go of Harry's hand, rushing to be at his mother's side. When he was close, she turned her head to look at her elated son, and a smile broke out on her face, the first smile Harry had ever seen her give. It lit up her face, and Harry could see the love she felt for her only son. 'She looks beautiful when she isn't frowning," Harry thought, remembering all of the times he had met her when she looked as if something in the area smelled off.

After witnessing the reunion of mother and son, Harry walked over to the two of them, having been beckoned with a wave of Draco's hand.

"Mother," the blond boy said. "I'd like to formally introduce you to Harry Potter, my boyfriend." Mrs. Malfoy looked at Harry with a thoughtful expression for a moment before she broke into another smile, this one not as bright as when she smiled at her own son, but that was to be expected.

"Mr. Potter," she said, her lovely voice soothing to the ear. "It is wonderful to finally meet you in what we can consider good circumstances."

Harry took her offered hand, placing a kiss upon her knuckles, which she seemed to appreciate.

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy," he said, "Call me Harry. And I'm very pleased to have this chance to get to know you." He kissed her hand once more for good measure which made her chuckle.

"How delightful," she said, her voice full of genuine amusement. "And you must call me Narcissa, Harry."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I mean, Narcissa."

Draco looked on nervously, hoping that Harry's manners would be enough to please his mother, as she was not one to tolerate uncouthness. Harry gave him a smile after conjuring another bench for them to sit on. He knew his display of easy magic would impress Draco's mother, and after all, that was what this visit was about, partly.

And so, the inquisition began. Narcissa asked him all sorts of things, though there was nothing inappropriate about her questions. She was in full 'mother mode' and just like Mrs. Weasley always examined possible suitors for her children, Narcissa was looking out for her only son. She said nothing about them both being males. After all, same-sex attraction wasn't frowned upon in the Wizarding World like it often was in the muggle world (If Dudley's favorite insult, "you're nothing but a disgusting little ponce", was anything to go by). There were ways to have children, even if both partners were male.

All in all, tea with Narcissa was wonderful. She was pleased with Draco's choice for a partner, and approved of Harry's life's goals. She thought being a Healer was a wonderful career choice and that if anyone would excel, it would be him.

-0-  
End Chapter 9  
-0-

_A/N: So yeah, I thought that with all of the craziness that is to come, a nice quiet chapter would be a welcome calm before the storm, so to speak. I also needed to introduce the last important character. I'm personally a huge fan of having a strong Narcissa, because I think she is one of the least-developed characters in canon, but she has such potential for fun. _

_Also, before you think that the scene in the bed was ridiculous, and no sexual experience could ever start in such a way, I'll let you know a secret. That portion of the story comes directly from my own personal experience, Harry's point of view being my own in this case. Hey, they say write what you know!_

_Anyway, I need something from you guys. I mentioned the "The Boy-Who-Lived Goes To:_" series, and I need to come up with some of the titles. So, I'm crowdsourcing this to you guys; just fill in the blank. Ideas that I like will make it into the story! Please review and give me ideas! Chapter 10: The Black Book coming soon!_


	10. Dinner with Narcissa

**Disclaimer:** Yep. I'm totally J.K, masquerading as a 25 y/o man on a fanfic website…

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry's discovered his libido for the first time. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended.

_A/N: … I have absolutely no excuse for leaving you hanging like this between chapters. I promise you, I have no intention of abandoning this story. Though I say I have no excuse, the last 4 months have been incredibly busy, what with me trying to meet a deadline for writing a huge amount of music and then teaching said music to my choirs. The whole experience drained me of every ounce of creativity I possess, and it's taken some time for me to feel up to returning to this project. However, I don't foresee anything nearly as time-consuming in my near future, so hopefully things will be back to normal with weekly updates! For those of you who have stuck with me through this long delay, I thank you. And for those of you who are just joining the ride, welcome! I apologize for the lengthy Author's Notes._

**Chapter 10: Dinner With Narcissa**

Harry found his way back to Draco's rooms fairly easily, considering his unfamiliarity with Malfoy Manor. The outer door had been left open, though it was still warded to allow entry only to the two boys. He decided that a shower would be a good choice for passing the time while Draco spoke with his father. Lucius' presence had not been foisted upon Harry, which was exactly how he wanted it. He didn't care to deal with the man until he absolutely had to, and that was definitely not this weekend.

He stripped out of his robes, hanging them on a vacant hanger in the large walk-in closet. Draco had a thing about leaving fine clothing strewn about 'with no care whatsoever' and Harry had no wish to be subjected to another lecture on the proper care for silk, cotton, dragonhide, and the countless other materials that Wizarding clothing could be made from. The last lecture had lasted nearly an hour and included 'practice' folding clothing with the proper spells to decrease the chance of wrinkling (after all, de-wrinkling spells were terribly difficult to cast properly).

As he toed off his shoes and socks, Harry looked around for a hamper but was unable to locate one. He decided he would just fold his trousers and shirt and leave them in a neat stack with his pants and undershirt. Having finally divested himself of all clothing, Harry walked to the other side of the closet (it took 45 steps!) and opened the door to the bathroom.

The marble and white gold that dominated the bathroom suite practically screamed wealth. It was not overdone and showy, but the subtle elegance that spoke of impeccable taste learned from a lifetime of luxury was quite imposing. The Malfoys clearly knew the full extent of their wealth and had no qualms about showing it off. But they knew how to broadcast it without ever coming across as garish, a task at which most 5-star hotels in the world failed miserably. Harry finally decided to ignore the lavish beauty surrounding him, focusing his attention on the large shower room that stood opposite the Olympic-sized tub.

He experimentally turned a few of the knobs in the shower, quickly growing frustrated when nothing came out of the tap. Just when he was about to give up after trying over twenty knobs, Harry noticed a small button located near the showerhead labeled 'Water'. Feeling silly, the naked Hero who was able to defeat the greatest evil of the century finally learned how to start his shower.

After forty minutes in the bathroom (fifteen of which were spent just figuring out that blasted shower) and a drying spell, Harry was clean and feeling refreshed. He stood there in the closet clad in only his undergarments, rifling through his clothing for a nice outfit. He put on a clean pair of grey trousers and a navy blue oxford shirt but decided to forego a robe for now.

Harry was surprised that Draco wasn't back from talking to his father; according to the blond, Lucius wasn't one for longwinded chats with his son. The aristocrat had never been a believer in waffling on about emotions and other such nonsense. As it was, Harry had expected the visit to be a short one, merely saying hello and updating one another on their recent activities as well as business and financial situations. The brunet decided to do a little reading to pass the time. There were enough books stacked on the shelves that took up one entire wall of Draco's room that Harry could surely find something to interest him.

As he skimmed through the titles, he noticed an inconsistency on one of the shelves. The books here looked flat and rather two-dimensional, a clear sign that a hasty glamour was in effect. Harry felt out with his magic to discover if there were any wards protecting this space and was pleased to find none. He guessed that this was where Draco had hidden his collection of smut-filled magazines or whatever horny teenaged wizards used for their entertainment.

What Harry was not expecting was for the glamour to fail the minute he touched it and reveal at least forty identical books. They were thin and white with colorful red and gold writing on the spines. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed that these books weren't identical as he had initially thought, but all part of the same series. He had to squint to read one of the titles, but once he'd managed to read it, he wished he hadn't.

_**THE BOY-WHO-LIVED GOES TO GRINGOTT'S!**_

Harry blinked and read the title again. Unfortunately, his blinking did nothing to change what he read. He pulled a handful of books off of the shelf and looked at some of the other titles…

_**THE BOY-WHO-LIVED GOES TO THE MOON!**_

_**THE BOY-WHO-LIVED GOES TO HONEYDUKES!**_

_**THE BOY-WHO-LIVED GOES TO THE HEALER!**_

_**THE BOY-WHO-LIVED GOES TO YOUR HOUSE!**_

The last title made him stop. Intrigued, Harry looked at the cover again and saw Malfoy Manor clearly pictured there complete with Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco. He opened to the title page and noted the author, Deena Skeeter. Chuckling and wondering whether this woman was related to Rita or merely a penname, Harry turned the page and began to read.

_Little Draco Malfoy sat by his window, looking out at the sky and wondering where his hero was. He was tired of being scared of the monsters under his bed and hoped the Boy-Who-Lived would help him vanquish them the same way he vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You see, Harry Potter was a hero who liked to help everybody he could, even little boys like Draco._

_Suddenly, in the sky there was a flash of light and Draco followed the fast movement with his eyes, watching the figure approach. When it was finally close enough to see clearly, Draco jumped up in excitement. It was the Boy-Who-Lived! He had answered Draco's wishes and come to help him. He opened the window and—_

Harry heard a noise and looked up to see a very frozen and pale blond standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He jumped up and attempted to hide what he was reading behind his back, a futile effort he knew.

"You weren't supposed to find those," Draco said softly, almost a whisper.

Harry walked up to the blond, lifted his chin, and placed a short, sweet kiss upon those lush pink lips which were currently formed into a nervous frown. "You don't need to be embarrassed," he said gently, reaching down and taking hold of both of Draco's hands.

"Yeah, well… I still am," he said in response. "I haven't read those books in years. It's no surprise you found them, as old as the glamour I had hiding them was."

Harry chuckled to himself, hopefully expressing his amusement without seeming to mock the blond. He led them both back to the bookshelf where he returned the books to their rightful places.

"I'm almost afraid to ask this," the brunet said, "But does every wizarding child in Great Britain have this set of books?"

Finally, Draco smiled and Harry couldn't help himself, he kissed him again. "Pretty much," he answered once his lips had been freed. "I would bet that every student at Hogwarts has read at least a few of them."

"Then how did I never know they existed?" Harry asked, shocked that something like this had never come to his attention. He was the subject of an entire children's book series and he didn't even know about it, for Merlin's sake!

"Well, everyone who actually knows you knows how much you hate your publicity, and none of them wanted to have to withstand your wrath when you found out," Draco said rather quickly, fighting the urge to cringe at Harry's many possible reactions.

Harry, instead of getting upset, chortled and pulled Draco over to the bed. "Oh well, guess I'll have to read them all later," he said, surprising Draco. "But do tell me, how did you happen to be in one of the books?"

"Oh, that one? That's my favorite!" Draco said. He blushed after he said this, embarrassed again at showing how much he loved the childish book series, or maybe how obsessed he really had been. "There's some bit of magic in them that, when a boy or girl writes their name in the book, recognizes their magical signature and makes them the co-star of the book."

"That's quite brilliant, actually," Harry responded, removing his shirt, laying down and patting the spot on the bed next to him. "Now, come take a nap with me. We were up way too early today and I'm tired."

Draco said nothing, but curled up into Harry and promptly fell into a wonderful dream of Harry Potter flying into his open bedroom window and fighting a huge under-the-bed monster.

-0-

Dinner was fast approaching and Draco was a nervous wreck. Sure, things had gone well during the earlier conversations over tea in the garden, but that was then, and this was now. Tea was a casual affair, and Harry had done well in the setting. But Draco had no idea how the boy-wonder would do in a formal setting, and there were very few settings more formal than a Malfoy dinner.

Harry was currently working on removing the wrinkles in his slacks, having forgotten to remove them before taking a nap. _"Ruga lavifico!" _he heard Harry practically shout at his trousers. It helped to snap Draco out of his worries as he decided to have mercy on the helpless brunet.

"Just stop, before you blast a hole in them," he said, staying Harry's wand before another haphazard and overly powerful spell could weaken the fabric. "You're being far too heavy-handed with that. Like I always say, no subtlety whatsoever."

Harry scoffed at his declaration but moved aside nonetheless. Draco walked up to the trousers and easily removed the wrinkles with a single wave of his wand and one silently incanted spell. With a smirk at the scowling brunet, he presented the slacks and walked into the closet to choose robes for both of them. When he returned wearing a simple slate gray robe with black edging and carrying a royal blue robe with silver embroidery, Harry was fully dressed and doing up a silver tie over his navy blue shirt. Draco helped him into the stylish robe, closing the silver clasps at the navel. The style of this robe was very modern, leaving Harry's trousers and shirt combo exposed. It was quite a handsome look on him.

"You certainly clean up well," he drawled, earning a grin from his boyfriend.

"How could I not, when I have you dressing me?" Harry quipped back, looking in the mirror at his reflection. When he looked back, he frowned at the nervous expression on Draco's face. "What's the matter?"

"It's not every day that one tells his mother that he plans to spend the rest his life with another wizard," Draco said stiffly. "I know she seemed besotted with you during tea this afternoon, but introducing you as a boyfriend and declaring our real intentions are completely different matters. She can't dismiss this as a momentary phase that might pass, as she might have when she thought you were merely my boyfriend."

"Don't work yourself into a state, Draco," Harry said, pulling the blond into a hug. "I've studied the etiquette books you gave me, and I'm sure I'll be perfectly charming tonight with you in the lead. And if nothing else, I'm sure your mother will be able to see just how smitten I am with you and that can only have a positive influence."

Draco couldn't help but smile at the roguish grin Harry gave him. He was right; Draco was being a drama queen. His mother could certainly not find fault with him spending his life with the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World. Pulling away from the embrace, Draco laced their fingers together and led the way to the Formal Dining Room.

-0-

Despite his assurances to Draco, Harry was a nervous wreck inside. But he was channeling his inner-Slytherin and presenting a calm and confident front. They were both standing behind the chairs that would be theirs once dinner began, waiting for Narcissa to arrive. It was improper to sit before the Lady of the House.

He felt Draco squeeze his hand almost painfully and a second later, a door opened to reveal Narcissa in all her splendor. She was dressed in a beautiful flowing gown of golden silk. It made her pale skin seem to glow and Harry finally saw where Draco had gotten his beauty. Oh yes, he looked a great deal like his father, but his pale complexion and grace came from his mother, as did the silkiness of his platinum hair.

"Good evening, Harry, Dragon," she said before sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the table from the two of them.

"Good evening Narcissa," Harry said at the same time as Draco mumbled "Good evening, mother", face turning red. Clearly, he didn't appreciate being called by his nickname in front of anyone else. Harry thought it was rather adorable, to be honest, and smiled at the exchange, hiding his glee at Narcissa's smirk.

As soon as the he and Draco had sat, three House-elves appeared with the first course and set the bowls of cold celery root soup in front of each of them. Harry carefully selected his soup spoon and ate, remembering to scoop his spoon away from him so as not to slosh on himself if he were too forceful. It had seemed a strange rule at first, but Harry could see the sensibility in it now.

The three of them ate their soup in silence, Harry taking his cues from the two blonds and waiting to speak until someone else struck up a conversation. Another three elves appeared to take away the empty bowls and were followed immediately by three more elves bearing small plates of bacon-wrapped figs served with a pungent blue cheese sauce. Harry watched Narcissa use her smallest fork and knife to cut a fig in half, and then dip the half into the sauce. He followed suit and couldn't stop the small sound of pleasure from escaping as he tasted the Hors d'oeuvre. He'd never tasted a fig before. It was quite delicious.

Narcissa let a small smile grace her face at Harry's utterance, and that seemed to break the ice in her opinion, for she began making small talk. As the courses progressed, they conversed quite easily about their school studies and the rebuilding of the Ministry. It was while they were nearing the end of the entrée course—roast squab served over a bed of creamy polenta with prosciutto—that Harry noticed Draco's increasing stiffness.

"Dragon," Narcissa began as the plates were taken away and replaced by small bowls of chocolate gelato. "Do tell me what it is that has you so wound up. You're practically twitching in anticipation."

Draco swallowed audibly before speaking. "Mother, as you know, Harry and I have been together a few months now."

Narcissa smiled and nodded at this. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew what Draco was going to say. He kept his smirk hidden behind his spoon.

"Yes, well it may seem a bit fast," the blond continued. "But if you consider our history I'm sure you'll agree that it's hardly surprising. I mean, yes we've fought like mad and even declared each other our arch-rival at the school, but really we've been chasing after and dancing around each other for over seven years now, and it turns out it was all—"

"Draco," Narcissa said, cutting him off mid babble. "You're rambling, which is so unlike you. Take a breath and tell me what you're trying to say."

Draco took a deep breath and then started again. "What I'm trying to say, mother, is that we're quite in love and we both agree that what we have is far more than a silly schoolboy romance."

At this, Draco reached down and grasped Harry's hand, placing them together on the table between their plates. Harry was quite surprised at the outward show of affection in front of his mother, but smiled brightly and squeezed their joined hands.

"Anyway," he continued even as a blush spread over his features. "We're quite set on this lasting far beyond this year at Hogwarts. I know I just introduced Harry to you as my boyfriend earlier today, but that was because it would have been improper for a pureblood son to introduce his intended to his mother without first assessing her opinion of him."

"Draco, are you certain in your decision?" Narcissa asked, hiding her smile behind her proper mask of indifference. Harry noticed it though, even if Draco missed it.

"What he's saying," Harry said, "is that we intend to marry at some point after our graduation."

At this, Narcissa's face beamed with the size of her smile. Draco looked horrified at Harry for a quick moment, but upon seeing his mother's smile, his's expression changed to surprise. He'd clearly expected it to be harder. Thought there would be some form of explanation or convincing needed. Hell, he'd been ready to grovel.

Harry thought Draco looked so damn cute that, yet again, he couldn't help himself and pulled Draco to him, taking advantage of his gaping expression, and snogged him quite thoroughly. It barely lasted five seconds, but it left Draco out of breath and with a goofy smile adorning his face. Harry turned back to Narcissa with a smirk.

"Oh yes," she said delightedly, "I definitely approve."

-0-

End Chapter 10

-0-

ruga = wrinkle, crease; levifico = to smooth down (Remember, I use google translate so if my spells suck, sorry.)

_A/N: Okay, so not a lot happened, but at least I'm back, right? Right. Anyway, I needed to get the introductions between Harry and Narcissa finished and a babbling, slightly OOC Draco amused me. Hopefully you found it kinda funny and not terribly off-base. Either way, the plot picks back up in the next chapter which I am already working on. No 4 month wait this time, I promise. Please review! _

_A/N #2: The idea for "The-Boy-Who Lived Goes To Your House" is from SilverViolet96. I liked the idea of a magical children's book that would tailor itself to include the reader in the story. _


	11. The Black Book

**Disclaimer:** Yep. I'm totally J.K, masquerading as a 25 y/o man on a fanfic website…

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry has finally discovered the existence of his libido. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets far more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended, and some people might not be as gone as we thought.

**Chapter 11: The Black Book**

Harry woke to the feeling of a warm mouth engulfing his manhood. He tried to pretend he was still asleep but the moan that was dragged out of him when Draco's tongue ran roughly up the thick vein on the underside of his cock ruined that plan. He felt Draco's answering chuckle turn into a moan around him when he thrust up into the warm wet heat. He built up a rhythm of pumping in and out of Draco's mouth, burying himself to the hilt each time. In no time at all, he felt his climax mounting.

"Fuuu-uhhh!" Harry screamed as he came directly down the blond's throat. To his credit, Draco didn't gag and even kept sucking on the way up until Harry finally fell from his mouth.

Harry reached to reciprocate, but Draco swatted his hand away. "No need," he said, grinning sheepishly. Harry looked down to discover the evidence of Draco's release on the sheet below.

"That was a hell of a way to wake up," the brunet said as he pulled Draco up to kiss him fully on the mouth, enjoying the taste of his own spunk on his breath. It wasn't a pleasant taste, to be sure, but it was a reminder of the way he'd just owned the blond's mouth.

"Mmm," was Draco's response, leaning back in for another kiss. "Did you really tell my mother we planned to marry right after graduation?"

"Well technically I said at some point after graduation, but right after falls under that wide umbrella," Harry said with a smirk. Draco smacked him on the shoulder for his quip and got up. Harry enjoyed the view of Draco's smooth arse swaying across the room to the closet. They had been sleeping in various state of undress together, but the last night had been the first time since the incident with Blaise and Ginny that they had slept totally naked again.

"Eyes off my arse, Potter," Draco drawled right before disappearing through the doorway, not allowing Harry the chance to respond.

Harry jumped up from the bed and hurried after his fiancé, hoping to join him in the shower. They hadn't ever had the chance to shower together at Hogwarts, not wanting to risk even the lockable Prefect's Bathroom. Students in a hurry to get their evening bath were quite capable of figuring out the proper unlocking charms.

He heard the bath water running, and ran quickly into the other room. Draco was standing over the tub's edge, turning different taps on and off as water filled the large space surprisingly fast. The smell in the room was fragrant and masculine, filling Harry's nostrils and enticing him forward. He crept up behind Draco and tried to surprise him but, true to form, as he was bending to tickle his sides, said blond stood up, sending Harry flying into the water.

His yell was silenced by the water as Harry splashed into the tub. He came up spluttering to the sight of Draco hunched over, laughing his arse off. Harry splashed him and when the blond started to complain, Harry reached out and pulled him into the water as well.

"Oh, it's so on, Potter!" Draco cried out, as he launched himself at Harry for a full blown water fight.

-0-

Telling Narcissa that Bellatrix may still be alive was far easier than Harry expected. From the relieved face that Draco was sporting, it was clear he'd expected a much more difficult time of it as well. But his mother, as always, handled the revelation with grace and aplomb.

"Can you tell me _how _Bella managed to survive?" Narcissa asked with a slight frown. "From what I heard, Molly Weasley fiercely struck her down in the final battle, and she was quite dead. The Prewitt family's women were never ones to make angry."

At Draco's significant look, Harry launched into the story of how Voldemort had sought immortality through the use of Horcruxes. He explained that Bellatrix had been his most trusted and, indeed, cherished servant and that he had shared many of his most closely guarded secrets with her, intending them to rule the world together. Throughout the story, Narcissa sat with lips pursed, attention solely on Harry as his words tumbled out rather clumsily. Her flared nostrils and wide eyes were the closest she came to showing the true horror she felt.

"They were attempting **WHAT?!**" she exclaimed when Harry got to the part about resurrecting Grindelwald's magic. Harry would have smirked at her outburst, were the situation any less serious.

"Voldemort, with Bellatrix's help, was trying to claim the power of Grindelwald for himself," Harry explained. "He had discovered a Dark necromantic ritual that would raise the magic that lay dormant.

"What a fool," Narcissa replied, much more in control of her emotions now.

Harry looked at her questioningly. "How do you mean?"

"Do you know the difference between the Ministry's definition of dark magic and true Dark Magicks?" she asked, prompting a nod from both Harry and Draco. "So you know that dabbling with Dark Magicks messes with the mind and soul, slowly ripping both to shreds, leaving a deranged, hate-filled husk of a person in its wake. That's why Bella went insane; it wasn't Azkaban. She was too filled with hate, and too far gone for Dementors to have any effect."

"So, a crazy Dark Lord and his faithful but equally insane companion were preparing to take on one of the darkest of magicks, all in a quest for even more power?" Draco asked, speaking for the first time since he'd greeted his mother.

"Precisely," she answered. "And had they succeeded, the world would never have survived. The last shreds of humanity would likely have been torn from the Dark Lord, leaving him as nothing more than an immensely powerful killing machine, hell bent on destroying everything in his path, up to and including Bellatrix. There wouldn't be a person left standing when he finished, and no one, not even the strongest allied wizards would have been able to stop him."

Suddenly, Narcissa stood. "But this is all mere speculation, as they never succeeded. Come with me, we must confirm that Bellatrix is truly alive, and then we may formulate a plan."

Harry was about to ask where they were going, but Draco silenced him with a look. Taking the hint, he followed along after the two blondes.

After walking for at least a year (if Harry's impatient internal clock was to be believed) and making 43 turns (he'd counted), the trio stopped in front of a plain black door with a simple, brushed silver handle. Narcissa, instead of reaching for the handle, leaned toward the door and spoke to it in a whisper, apparently sharing secrets.

As she spoke, the door's façade changed from black to green, and the plain handle melted away, replaced by an ornate silver handle in the shape of a serpent's head mid-strike.

"Harry," Narcissa said, startling the brunet whose attention had been riveted on the shifting door. "In this room is the most priceless treasure my family has ever or will ever possess. It has been passed down through the generations, always kept near a living descendant. This treasure is called The Black Book. Much like the tapestry that I'm sure you've seen at Grimmauld Place, it is a record of my family, though far more detailed."

Harry had already heard this from Draco, so he simply nodded his head. With that, Narcissa pushed the door open, revealing a small, plain room. Six torches provided the only decoration on the dark walls, though their green flames provided little light.

When they stepped fully into the room, an overhead light flashed on, temporarily blinding Harry in the process. But when he was able to see again, he saw that the spotlight was shining down on a pedestal holding a large, dragonhide-bound book. Harry moved forward with the two Malfoys, leaning over to see the book's cover. In large lettering were the words _**THE BLACK BOOK.**_

Narcissa opened the book, and Harry was astonished by what he read on the title page.

"Toujours Fidèle?" he asked. "I thought the Black family motto was Toujours Pur."

"Walburga Black changed it when she became Lady Black, head of the family," she said with a frown. "Toujours Fidèle means always faithful. The Black family was once one of the most honorable families in Britain. Members of the family were always loyal, first and foremost, to each other. No personal ambitions were to be seen as more important than the family. If running for Minister or becoming Headmaster of Hogwarts was in the best interest of the family, then that is what you did, despite personal feelings to the contrary."

"Certainly explains Phineas," Harry muttered.

"Correct, Harry," Narcissa said with a smirk. "Phineas Nigellus Black never liked children, though he bore many of his own. But he was in the best position to ascend to the role of Headmaster, and the family believed, at that time, that their views were being overlooked in face of the heavy influx of muggleborns. The Blacks in the 19th century believed he could rectify this problem at Hogwarts, though that attempt was never very successful. He hated the children, and they certainly hated him."

At this point, Narcissa turned back to the book, placed her left hand on the inside of the cover, and said, "Bellatrix LeStrange, neè Black."

The pages started turning quickly, and there were thousands, far more than the book appeared to hold. After about a minute, the page turning stopped near the very end. On the page closest to harry was a small picture of Bellatrix, recognizable even though the madness had not taken her yet. She must have been very young when the picture was taken, though the slight gauntness to her eyes suggested she had begun to dabble with the Dark Magicks.

Next to her picture was her name, Bellatrix Callidora Black. The Birth Date—1951—was apparent, but the Death Date—1998—had been smudged out, as if a finger had quickly rubbed over wet ink, striking out an errant word. The three of them took a collective inhale.

"Well," Draco said, breaking the tension that had gripped the room. "I suppose that confirms it. She died—sort of. But her Horcrux saved her."

Harry and Narcissa nodded, though Harry suddenly looked distracted. His gaze returned to the book, a look of longing apparent for a millisecond before he hid it away. Narcissa noticed where his attention had gone, placed her left hand back onto the book and said, "Sirius Black, the Third."

Once again, pages fluttered. Though Harry did not notice, so intense was the look he focused on Narcissa.

"How did you know I was thinking of him?" he asked, voice tight with unspoken emotion.

"He was your godfather, Harry," she said gently as she placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder. "I know the circumstances surrounding his death, and just how hard it may be to find closure. I thought seeing him here might help."

He nodded and turned his head back to The Black Book, afraid that if he looked into Narcissa's eyes, so full of understanding and shared pain, for any longer he might lose the little control he had left over his emotions. Next to Sirius' picture was his name and dates, the same format as Bellatrix's. But…hold on.

"There's no death date!" Harry shouted, despite the fact that the only two people he was talking to were mere inches away.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, turning back. "Is it scratched out like Aunt Bella's?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Look, it says '1959 until,' and then there's just nothing!'"

"Curious," Narcissa hummed, becoming almost lost in thought. "Come to think of it, does anyone actually know what the Veil really is?"

"Dumbledore told me it's the physical manifestation between life and death, and that it's a one way trip," Harry said sadly.

"And he knew that for a fact?" Draco responded.

"Well, he didn't give me any proof, per se. But why would he lie about that?"

"I do not believe he was lying to you, Harry," Narcissa said. "That is what Lucius believes it to be as well. I think that is what everyone who has ever been made aware of it was told. The Unspeakables rarely give their knowledge freely, even under torture, truth serums, and the Imperius curse; so it is quite possible that it is a cover story."

"Well, it looks like we need to look into this," Draco said pragmatically, effectively ending the discussion for the moment.

After returning to the sitting room for tea, discussions continued, and a plan began to form. With a promise from Narcissa to begin looking for signs of Bellatrix (she said that the first place she would look would be the ancestral Black properties scattered about Europe and northern Africa) and to speak with some contacts at the Ministry to find out who might know what about the Veil, Harry and Draco left Malfoy Manor. They had much to discuss back at Hogwarts.

-0-

End Chapter 11

-0-

_A/N: I know this took a long time, and I'm sorry! But I got bitten by a plot bunny for a totally unrelated story, and it wouldn't release me from its clutches until I wrote at least an outline. And bunny teeth hurt. _

_Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, short and dry as it was (though there was at least a bit of fun at the beginning). At barely 2,000 words, I think it's my shortest yet. BUT, it had some important stuff that had to get started so that we can pick things up from this point. _

_Callidora, by the way, is an ancestor of Bellatrix's and means 'gift of beauty' in Greek. I thought it would be an ironic name for her, because all of the Black sisters were beautiful (it's a family trait I guess), but Bellatrix was physically changed by her magic practices. All the Dark Arts stuff, dude. No good._

_I have a question for you all, so please review and let me know your thoughts: Should Sirius "come back from the dead"? I mean, this story has a lot of it going on, so would one more be okay as long as it's Sirius? Do you even like him? Let me know, please!_


	12. Knowledge is Knowledge Wisdom is Power

**Disclaimer:** Yep. I'm totally J.K, masquerading as a 25 y/o man on a fanfic website…

**Warnings:** Slash (if that needs to be stated…), 8th-year fic (aka EWE), uncontrollable erections.

**Summary:** It's 8th Year and Harry has finally discovered the existence of his libido. Draco Malfoy wants to get to know Harry, but he gets far more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, there are people in the world who were not happy with the way the war ended, and some people might not be as gone as we thought.

**Chapter 12: Knowledge is Knowledge; Wisdom is Power**

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were less than shocked at the news that Bellatrix was indeed…not quite dead. It was unsure whether she had managed to resurrect herself yet or if she was floating about as a shadow, similar to the way Voldie had done for thirteen years.

Harry steeled himself to tell his closest friends the next bit of news, which he had mixed feelings about. How was he supposed to feel, knowing that Sirius' situation wasn't as resolved as he thought? He had been working hard to move on from his godfather's death, but finding it more difficult to manage than moving on from everything else. He still spent many nights dreaming about the man who had been in his life for such a short time but made such a significant impact.

Narcissa was right; the circumstances of Sirius' fall through the Veil made it harder to find closure. There had been no funeral service. There wasn't even a body to bury, which was perhaps the most upsetting part – Harry had never learned to handle grief well. He felt Draco's hand slip into his and give a quick squeeze. He looked up into the cool grey eyes that offered unending support and firmed up his resolve.

"Guys," he said, interrupting the discussion they had begun on how to proceed with the research (Ron was of the opinion that Harry would have a Vision with all the answers, so why bother). "There was one other thing I should mention. You know how I said Bellatrix' date of death appeared smudged in The Black Book?"

"Yeah," Ron responded. "What about it?"

"Well, Mrs. Malfoy also showed me Sirius' entry."

The two Weasleys and Hermione all tensed, immediately looking at Harry in concern while trying to hide any signs of pity. Harry didn't like pity. But still, they were aware of Harry's difficulties with the loss of his godfather, and his lingering sadness.

"Well, his date of death wasn't smudged," Harry said, voice lowering to almost a whisper, though the others could easily hear it in the quiet Common Room. "That's because there was no date listed at all."

"You mean The Black Book thinks Sirius is alive!?" Hermione exclaimed, excited at the mere suggestion. She looked to Draco, hoping that he perhaps had some knowledge of how the Book worked.

"I'm not sure The Black Book is capable of thinking," Draco said carefully. "I think it is merely a record of the births, deaths, and pertinent information of family members. Bellatrix has a clear date listed for her death, but then it's apparently scratched out. That Sirius' death isn't listed at all is certainly suspicious."

Hermione looked very thoughtful of this, frowning. "But I thought the Veil was the literal 'Veil of Death'…"

"That's what Dumbledore told me, but how much did he really know for a fact?" Harry challenged. "In Mrs. Malfoy's opinion," he conveniently left out that it was also Lucius' opinion, "the Unspeakables may only use that as a cover story. And it just makes me wonder, what else could it be?"

**-0-**

Draco could tell that Hermione was in her element, researching maniacally in the midst of stacks upon stacks of books and taking up half the table. He could hardly see the top of her head, so high were her leather-bound battlements. Of course, his own pile of books wasn't much smaller, but at least the others could see his eyes to speak to him.

They were currently ensconced in a corner of the library, looking for information pertaining to the Veil and anything, really, about death. It was a gloomy subject, but they needed to start somewhere. So far, Draco hadn't found anything useful. Of course, he hadn't expected much from _Death & Taxes: How You Can Owe Even In The Afterlife._

"This is pointless," Ginny said with a frustrated sigh. "Do we really expect to find something about such a mysterious artifact in the Hogwarts Library?"

"Not really," Hermione said, looking quite disappointed that her beloved library had failed, even though she hadn't really expected much. Of course no one could see her expression due to the forest of books surrounding her.

"Perhaps," Draco said, moving some of his books out of his way, "we should think of other avenues for research."

"Like what?" asked Hermione from behind her stack.

"Well, we could look in the Mafoy library, or the library at Grimmauld Place. And if those fail, we start researching in the Ministry Archives," he responded as if it were obvious.

"That sounds like a good plan," Hermione said, still vaguely distracted by the book she was reading. But then the last part of Draco's statement finally registered with her and she stood suddenly, upsetting the stack of books nearest to her and sending a few crashing to the floor. As Madame Pince was nowhere near enough to see or hear them, she simply ignored the fallen tomes.

"What do you mean we can research in the Ministry Archives?" she asked as loudly as she could without shouting (she _was_ aware that she was still in a library after all).

"Well, they don't exactly advertise that fact, but the Archives are public record and anyone can access them, though your entry and exit into the Archives themselves is recorded by the Ministry, and the entire place is a mess."

Hermione's eyes lit up, but she dropped the subject for the time being. Instead, she suggested they give up on Veil research for now. They left the library, having had enough of the oppressive silence and morbid atmosphere, and went in search of Pansy and Blaise, intending to work on their regular homework. They had a Charms essay to write.

**-0-**

Narcissa was good at pulling strings, as she had honed the craft over the years, making just as many moves as Lucius within the Ministry. Despite the terrible hit the Malfoy reputation had taken because of their affiliation with the Dark Lord, Narcissa had been able to maintain many of her connections.

She had called in a few favors, trying to find an Unspeakable or a relative of an Unspeakable who would talk. She was finding no help, though and she was loathe to start throwing Harry's name around this early in the game. There was no telling what lengths the Department of Mysteries would go to keep their activities secret, and Harry's name would almost certainly bring unwanted attention.

So, Narcissa was faced with mostly closed doors in her quest for information through the Ministry. But she did not let these obstacles slow her down. She merely shelved those discoveries for another day and took a trip to Gringott's to find the statues of the scattered Black properties. She wasn't sure what she would be able to find out there, as the Black fortune and holdings were not necessarily hers.

Sirius had been the Head and Lord of House Black at the time of his passing through the Veil, and considering that his status was in question, she didn't know who had what access to which vaults.

"Good day," she said cordially but with little emotion to the goblin whose services she needed. Goblins took no delight in overly polite or kind magical folk. They were strictly business and abhorred small talk. This goblin's desk was slightly out of the way from the rest, due to his elevated status (Senior Accounts Manager). His name was Forgehammer, according to the brass plate sitting on his marble desk, and his aged face was a dreadful sight to behold, something which all goblins prided themselves on.

"Good day," he replied in a gravelly voice that matched his appearance. "State your business."

"I need to inquire about the Black Family properties, particularly their possible usage in recent months."

"And who are you to be making such inquiries?" Forgehammer asked.

"Narcissa Malfoy, neè Black."

"I see," the goblin replied, skeptical of the woman in front of him. Skepticism was, of course, second nature to all goblins. "Have you a key to any of the Black vaults with which verify your claim to the family Black?"

Narcissa pulled her key from the front pocket of her blue satin robe and handed it to Forgehammer. He peered at it closely as if expecting it to be a forgery which, of course, he did. With a squeeze of his hand, he felt the Gringott's magic flow through him. This key indeed belonged to Narcissa Black and granted her access to three vaults: her Dowry vault, her personal vault, and the Malfoy joint account. It further informed him that the woman in front of him was actually Narcissa Black Malfoy and not bewitched to look like her.

"Follow me," he commanded, standing and walking swiftly down a brightly lit hallway. Narcissa allowed herself a small glimmer of hope. She hadn't been turned down outright, which was a positive.

At the end of the hallway, they took the lift to the third level down. The goblins' individual offices were located beneath the main floor of the bank, though they used a lift instead of carts as they weren't going hundreds of meters below to the vaults.

Once Narcissa was seated before Forgehammer's desk, he pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer and a small pin.

"Hand, please."

Narcissa was familiar with this routine, so she complied easily, allowing the goblin to prick her finger and watching three drops of blood fall to the parchment. He squeezed her finger, healing the small wound and removing any lingering traces of pain. The blood was quickly absorbed by the parchment, and lines of flowing text appeared on the page. The goblin waved his hand and flicked his finger over the parchment, causing the text to scroll. Narcissa found it amusing, even after all of her experience with Gringott's. She'd always taken joy in the small things; it had helped in the harder times.

"Mrs. Malfoy, as you are surely aware, you were not the Black heir," Forgehammer said.

"Of course."

"As such, I cannot divulge specifics of the estate to you, such as financial information, and exact location of unplottable or otherwise hidden properties. I can, however discuss their general existence, condition, and the like."

"That's quite generous of you," Narcissa said, sounding for all the world like she meant the exact opposite of what she said. "All I'm interested in knowing right now is if there has been any movement in or on any of the properties. I know they all have surveillance charms and other kinds of security, most of which have recordings and archives kept here. If there is no Black heir, there should be no one in any of the properties."

"Hmm," the goblin said, looking down at his parchment. He scrolled down some more until he found what he was looking for. "Curious," he said more to himself than to Narcissa.

"Curious? What have you found?"

"Well, it appears that some of the Blacks' eastern European properties have had a visitor recently, starting as far back as…July."

Narcissa went still. "Is there any way you can identify who that person is?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, madame," Forgehammer said, "but I am not privy to that information. I can only tell you that there were two presences recorded at one of the estates in Albania."

Narcissa thanked the goblin and left Gringott's. She needed to owl Draco.

**-0-**

Harry looked up at the owls swooping down into the Great Hall. He felt the ever present pang of loss for Hedwig, but quickly shoved that aside and looked for his new owl, Gwydion. He heard a screech and turned his head to see the little trickster coming from right behind him, which was quite a feat as he was sitting with his back facing the near wall, which only gave the bird about two meters' space in which to swoop down and 'attack'.

"Oof!" he grunted as he suddenly found himself with a face full of owl as Gwydion landed hard on his shoulder, using his wing to stop his momentum, thus smacking Harry in the face.

"Oh quit it, you," he said to a snickering Draco as he thumped him on the shoulder. This only caused his other companions—the rest of the Golden Trio, Neville, Luna, Ginny, Blaise, and Pansy were all clustered around him at the Gryffindor table for breakfast—to join Draco in his mirth, no longer hiding their laughter. Harry flashed them all the two-fingered salute and untied his bundle of mail from his owl, feeding the ruddy bird some of his sausage as a treat for his long journey. His recriminations were all in good fun, and he received a playful cuff of the wings as if to remind him of Gwydion's beak's position right by his vulnerable ear.

Once the Great Hall was once again mostly empty of owls, besides the ones that waited for replies, Harry looked down at his mail. Their group had decided to subscribe to various major and lesser known news outlets around wizarding Europe. With Narcissa's information last week about reported activity in many of the Black houses, they had decided to move forward in their plans for Bellatrix.

Ironically, it had been Ron who suggested receiving more than just the Daily Prophet for news. Harry chuckled inwardly, remembering Ron's indignant response to their surprise at his suggestion.

**. . .**

"What, it's a right smart idea," he'd spluttered, primarily incensed at Hermione's shocked look. "According to all of you, we need information, and what better way to start than by monitoring the news. Surely Dumbledore did something like that, only we're not all the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"I'm just shocked I didn't think of it first," Hermione had responded, sounding perfectly reasonable, if not a bit miffed that this brilliant idea wasn't hers.

"Oi! You haven't got a monopoly on good ideas!" he'd retorted, pulling her to him to lean in for a kiss, which was effective in cutting off any argument she had.

**. . .**

Harry looked down at his paper, the "Français Flambeau" which was the French equivalent to the Daily Prophet. He had a smaller paper as well, called "Reich und Schlecht", that was similar to The Quibbler but was more pointed in its language. All around his table, his closest friends (and he really was starting to think of them as friends, colleagues, and extended family) were opening similar publications from other countries. Hermione had maintained her subscription to the Daily Prophet but had insisted on subscribing to three new newspapers.

They performed the necessary translation spells to be able to read them (except for Draco who had subscribed to "The French Tickler, a Belgium parody newspaper; apparently it was written in French and Draco thought the jokes were much funnier in the original language than after the clumsy translation spell) and settled into breakfast behind their morning reading. This had become a morning tradition, though the smaller news magazines only came out weekly.

"You guys!" Ginny shouted after a few moments of silent reading and eating.

"What is it, Ginny?" Blaise asked from his seat next to her.

"There have been mysterious attacks on animals in the Black Forest, leaving countless dead," she said in concern. "And the hippocampi population in the Rhine has migrated to the sea a full four months before their usual mating season!"

"Are sure it's not an invasion of Kreeb-headed Slaggonsails?" Luna asked, pulling her head out of The Quibbler for the first time.

"What exactly are creepy-headed whatchamacallits?" Ron asked, trying to hide his smile. They had all learned that Luna did not actually talk nonsense; she just cloaked most things she said in a layer of madness.

"Oh they're not a type of Whatzu Maccalits. Those went extinct during the Crumple-horned Snorkack migration in Sweden a few years ago. Poor things, too curious for their own good – exploded so many Snorkacks too…" She drifted off, forgetting the point she had been making for the time being.

"Anyway," Harry said, bringing them back on track. "The situation in the Black Forest is similar to the days when Voldemort was trying to resurrect himself. There was a lot of talk at that time of disappearing animals, and we know that Mouldy was possessing animals while he searched for a way to bring his body back."

"When was the most recent animal's death?" Pansy asked.

"Just this weekend," Ginny replied after looking for the answer in the paper.

"So," Pansy went on, leaning forward and speaking in a lower tone of voice. "We can assume that, if Lestrange is behind this all, she hasn't fully resurrected herself?"

Harry nodded, reaching for Draco's hand. "We need to owl your mother, and see if she can find out if there is a property in or near the Black Forest."

"I'll write her during lunch," the blond said. "For now, we need have Transfiguration."

Indeed, Headmistress McGonagall had risen from her seat and left the Great Hall, ostensibly to prepare for the one class she still taught. The group of nine rose and left breakfast, hurrying back to their dorm to stash their papers and get their school things.

**-0-**

Narcissa was in the Malfoy Library, hoping that Lucius would continue to stay in his study. He'd been sulking recently, upset by the news of the repealing of many laws that the Malfoy money had paid to push through the Wizengamot. He was also upset about the new legislative mandate requiring that seats in the wizarding congress be elected instead of passed down through the old families. The current members would serve the rest of their term, until summer of 1999, when they would be allowed to run a campaign to retain their seat alongside anyone else who wanted to run for office.

So, Narcissa hoped today would be much of the same. Ever since the letter Draco had sent her, she'd been looking through Lucius' things to find a ledger she knew he'd kept. In it, he'd recorded the location to any property he had learned about in his years as Voldemort's servant. It had been the secret to much of the Dark Lord's success on his raids. She knew that at least a few of the properties listed would be Black-owned; Bellatrix would have told him everything she knew.

It had been two days carefully scouring the library for one of the many hidden spots. She was careful to leave everything as she found it, because Lucius was very secretive and would be most upset if he suspected her of rifling through 'his things'. But finally, on this late Wednesday evening, she had found a compartment hidden in the edges of a bookshelf, located on the second highest shelf. When she pressed her wand to it, the edges lit up with a yellow light.

Narcissa smirked. Only Lucius would use a basic 'Light' spell to hide his secrets. No one who knew him would look for such enchantments, expecting much heavier and more dangerous security measures. With a simple "Alohamora", the false door opened, revealing a small bit of Wizard's Space (a copy of the space that was layered over the real space, only in a different dimension).

There were six books located on the hidden shelf, and the sight of the first one brought tears to her eyes. It was a book she had helped Draco to craft when he was only four years old. The cover was a picture of him and Lucius, looking so very happy having a tickle fight. The title of the book was "Why I'm Proud of My Daddy." Lucius rarely got sentimental, but it touched Narcissa to know that he'd kept such a personal gift for so long.

Placing the book aside, she reached for the other book, knowing by seeing the frayed corners that she'd found it. Now she only needed to copy it and put everything back as she found it.

From behind her, she heard a noise and spun around. Her movement was too quick and upset her from her position at the top of the ladder she'd used to reach the shelf. She was falling and knew it was going to hurt, but a millisecond before she should have impacted, she froze in midair.

Looking up in surprise and trepidation, Narcissa smiled when she saw that it was only Flowerina, her personal House-Elf.

"Flowerina is being sorry Mistress Narcissa, ma'am," she sniffled, as she stood Narcissa back up and released her from her spell. "Flowerina wasn't meaning to be startling her mistress, no she wasn't. She just wanted to come and tell mistress that Master Lucius is insisting it being dinner time."

"That's quite alright, Flowrina," Narcissa said gently. She had never been one for abusing House-Elves, finding that they worked harder when they didn't fear punishment constantly. She looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was indeed past eight, and time for dinner. Narcissa took her wand back out, made a copy of Lucius' ledger, and put everything back where it had been. Her husband would never know she'd been snooping about.

**-0-**

Another week went by without much news coming from the mainland. Most of the group was getting along just fine, spending most of their time concentrating on school, and only the occasional hour looking for methods to find Bellatrix (Harry had decided not to share that Sirius might be alive with anyone other than those who had been at the Department of Mysteries with him. And Draco, of course).

Ron, however, was starting to get impatient for something substantial. He always had been the most impulsive of the Golden Trio.

"Don't we have enough information to be getting on with?" he whinged. "I'm tired of just waiting for something to happen. Don't we want to stop her _before_ she starts killing off the world's population, one by one?"

"Of course we do, mate," Harry responded evenly. Ron's little tantrums had been getting increasingly annoying, and Harry was coming very close to demanding that Hermione take him to a corner for some stress relieving snogging.

"But it feels like all we ever do is read, and collect information," Ron continued, oblivious to all of the eye-rolling going on around him. "Can't we just go find her shadow or whatever she is and…I don't know, bottle her up or something?"

"No need to throw a wobbly, Ron!" Ginny yelled down at him from her seat at the next table over.

"Ron, please show a little patience," Hermione huffed. "We don't actually know anything yet. We have vague clues that we're piecing together completely on hearsay."

"Yes, but isn't there anything more we can do?"

"Not yet," Harry said. Ron goggled at him, unused to a Harry who was content to wait instead of act. "C'mon, mate. We don't actually know anything. The Black Forest is huge, we don't know how or where to find Bellatrix, nor would we know what to do if we did find her. Dumbledore told me once, when we were looking for information on the Horcruxes, 'Knowledge is merely that, knowledge. But in wisdom will a wizard find his full power.'"

The entire group took a moment's pause to digest those words. As it seemed that Ron was finished with his whinging, they all went back to work. Harry set aside the Bellatrix research in favor of studying for his next assignment in Healing: mending bones. It included a wide range of spells, as different types of bones required different treatments; you just couldn't handle a knee the same as you would a nose.

So, Harry stared at diagrams of the human skeleton, labeled for easy memorizing. Most of his studying for Healing was just memorizing the human body, the names for everything, the precise location, and exactly what function each body part performed.

The next hours passed in silence, only the constant scratching of quill on parchment and the occasional mutterings of students memorizing for their classes, until…

"Harry," Hermione said, causing the boy in question to raise his head from the _Flambeau_. He noticed that Hermione looked mildly uncomfortable.

"When are you going to tell Remus about Sirius?" she asked.

**-0-**

**End Chapter 12**

**-0-**

"Translations" — a wobbly/wobbler is British slang for a tantrum. Français Flambeau (French torch) / Reich und Schlecht (Rich and Poor). The Black Forest (Schwarzwald in german) is NOT named for the Blacks. It's a real place, located in the southwest part of Germany and b ordered on one side by the Rhine.

_A/N: So there you go! Another chapter and it didn't take a month to get out. I hope you liked my Luna; she's one of the most fun characters to play with so I hope I did her justice. I hope you also liked my not-so-terrible-cliffie. This one was small, but in coming chapters, I'm sure to leaving you hanging so hard that you'll come after me with torches and pitchforks._

"_Translations" — a wobbly/wobbler is British slang for a tantrum. Français Flambeau (French torch) / Reich und Schlecht (Rich and Poor). The Black Forest (Schwarzwald in german) is NOT named for the Blacks. It's a real place, located in the southwest part of Germany and b ordered on one side by the Rhine._

_We're starting to really move the plot along now, which is exciting. At this point, I'd say this story is a little over a third of the way through which means there is plenty more to come. _

_Oh, and someone pointed out that Remus totally died along with Tonks in the Deathly Hallows. I realized this after I had written him into the story, mainly because I didn't read the 7th book *that* many times – except the scene where Dobby dies (I cry every time, he's my favorite. It's also some of Rowling's better writing, in my humble opinon :P )._

_If you have ideas for names of various wizarding newspapers, let me hear them. I might sprinkle some more in over the next few chapters. I've heard from a few people, all of whom seem to be in favor of Sirius coming back, but I'd like to hear from more of you. Would anyone actually be outright pissed off if he were to come back? What if I promised it would be spectacular? _

_Another question for you all: Should I involve Lucius more (either positively OR negatively)? Review please and tell me what you think!_

_FLVC _Click here to enter a date._ 11_


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